


Northern Wind

by Frostyunicorn300



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Best Friends, Everybody knows it, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, I'm Bad At Titles, John tries to help, Next Door Neighbours, Occasional Comedy, Sherlock doesn't hide his feelings very well, Sherlock in Love, Slow Romance, Sweet Moments, Title from City and Colour, he denies it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-04-26 06:42:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 56,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14396469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostyunicorn300/pseuds/Frostyunicorn300
Summary: When Kristine Svendsen moves next door to Sherlock Holmes, friendship sparks quickly between them. However, Sherlock begins to feel...strange. Foreign emotions, warmth, tenderness...sentiment.When she moves away a second time he feels lost, talks to himself like she's still there, tries to open the door only to find it locked. The garden is empty and he doesn't know how to fill it.When Kristine re-enters his life all of his repressed emotions come flooding back but he holds them in, building a wall. John tries to help him, make them both see they've made for each other, but will his efforts come to late?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This could be terrible, I don't know. Anywho, disclaimer: I am not Norwegian, but I am trying my best to be accurate. There will be instances where Norwegian will be spoken in the dialogue so a translator will be needed. I am not trying to be stereotypical in the slightest, if you feel like I am then I'm so sorry. I'm trying my best.  
> Feedback is always appreciated, kudos and comments make me happy and help motivate me to write more and post more chapters. Also, if there are any inaccuracies on anything, feel free to let me know (nicely) in the comments. :))))

The rising sun peaked through her yellow curtains, enveloping the room in a soft glow. Kristine stretched, balancing between sleep and wakefulness. After a few minutes she settled, opening her eyes. Green-blue irises scanning her almost empty bedroom. There were a few boxes scattered here and there, but nothing really left. Rolling out of bed she opened her window, smiling down at the boats in the water. A few men were loading up to go fishing for the day, seagulls squawked around them. She took in the smell of the sea, the sound of the boats rocking in the water, the summer breeze, everything. Even the sun on her face. Her father got an offer to teach Philosophy in London at their university. And being a man that loves to travel he agreed. Her mother detested the idea at first but eventually gave in. So today is moving day. Kristine didn't want to move, she wasn't exactly ready to leave Bergen behind. Her elder sister Elsa was nineteen and wasn't obligated to come with them but she wanted to, just to see what England was like.   
One of the fishermen noticed her in the window and waved up at her. "God morgen Kristine!"  
She knew him, they talked a few times when her father took her fishing on Sunday afternoons, he was a kind man who loved to tell her about his five grandchildren. She smiled back at him and waved. "God morgen!"   
"Kristine!" Her mother called from downstairs. Disappearing from the window, the fourteen-year-old grabbed her robe and opened her bedroom doors. Anne, her mother, was finishing breakfast while her father started putting their carry-on bags and suitcases by the front door. Kristine looked exactly like her mother, well, almost exactly. They were both petite with straight hair and fair skin that had freckles over their cheeks and nose. They has oval faces with rosy cheeks and full pink lips, round green-blue eyes and a celestial noses. The difference was in hair colour. Her mother had brown hair while Kristine, took after her fathers family who all have light blonde hair.   
Her father Gustav was a very tall man, with a slim face, brown eyes, thin nose and mouth. Her sister Elsa followed him with the same features and was also quite tall, but not as tall as he was, he still towered over all of them. Kristine and her mother however were both short.   
"Så det er flyttende dag." Her mother said, serving her breakfast. "er du spent?"   
"På en måte." Kristine said, sipping her juice. "Jeg tror ikke jeg er klar til å forlate."   
Her mother sighed and grabbed her hand, "I know, but perhaps one day we'll come home, it isn't forever, now hurry up and eat, we have to leave soon." 

For what would be the last time for a long time, Kristine turned the knob on her bedroom door. All of their furniture was to stay behind, for the house was still theres. All of their personal things were already in their new house, in the English countryside, about an hours drive from London. The leftover boxes scattered about contained things they could live without and would remain here. Kicking off her slippers she dressed for the day in the outfit she laid out.   
She stood in the mirror and looked at her reflection. Her oversized t-shirt was practically eating her alive and the straight black jeans she wore didn't help, they made her legs looks thinner and therefore made her look smaller. Sighing she shoved her feet into some boots and grabbed her cello case. Looking around all the memories started pouring in. She remembered getting her first big girl bed, her father coming in with a child sized cello because she wanted to play it, when her mother came in with her first pair of ballet slippers, when she got her first pair of pointe's and couldn't stop spinning on the hardwood floor...  
"Kristine! Lets go!" Elsa called from downstairs.   
"I'm coming!" She called back, heading for she door. She stopped, on the frame was pencil marks, each depicting her name and age, every time she grew her father marked it. The last entry was when she was ten years old. She hasn't grown since. But her grandmother Idunna said she was in for a growth spurt any time now. Kristine wasn't so sure, it has been four years, five come October.   
"Kristine!"   
Sighing she left her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. 

At the bottom of the stairs she looked at her house, the hallway that led into the kitchen from the front door, the archway into the living room.   
A hand was placed on her shoulder and she looked up at her father.   
"We have to go now, elskling."   
With a nod she followed her father outside, the trunk was open and she placed her cello in the back. Elsa opened the back door, turning back around she stared at her white house before sliding in the backseat, closing the car door.

________________________________

Sherlock watched the men move boxes from the moving truck into the house next to his own. A white car pulled up next to the wall, a short woman with brown hair stepped out, after her was a very tall man with light blonde hair and their children. Two girls, both light blonde like him but one tall and the other was short.  
The trunk popped open and they unloaded the contents. The shorter of the girls watched him as she slung a bag over her shoulder and took out a large case, obviously carrying a cello inside.   
"Kristine," her mother called after her.   
She gave him a quick smile before following her family into the house.

 

Sherlock looked out his bedroom window, Kristine was sitting in the shared backyard with the cello in front of her, light hair glowing under the moonlight.   
Sherlock snuck downstairs and opened his back door quietly, trying not to disturb her. Her voice was louder to him now, she was singing softly while she tuned the instrument in her hands.   
"I don't want to know the reasons why  
Love keeps right on walking on down the line  
I don't want to stand between you and love  
Honey, I just want you to feel fine  
Finally baby  
The truth has been told  
Now you tell me that I'm crazy  
It's nothing that I didn't know  
Trying to survive  
Oh you say you love me, but you don't know  
You got me rocking and a-reeling  
Hey I want you oh oh yeah uh huh  
I don't want to know the reasons why  
Love keeps right on walking on down the line."   
He faintly recognized what song she was playing, having heard it on the radio a few times in the car with his parents.   
"I don't want to stand between you and love  
Honey, take a little time."   
Gravel crunched under his foot and she looked up at him. She stopped tuning almost immediately almost dropping the cello. "Oh...uh...hi." She held the instrument in a firmer grip and tucked her hair behind her ear.  
Sherlock pointed to the empty spot beside her, "can I sit?"   
"Sure."   
He sat down next to her. Sherlock took a deep breath, her scent invaded his nostrils, she was floral, hints of rose, lily and jasmine mixed with patchouli and sandalwood.   
"Sherlock Holmes." He blurted out.   
"Kristine...Svendsen."   
"Scandinavian?"   
Kristine nodded, "I just moved here from Norway. I lived in Bergen, uh, my pappa was offered a job to teach Philosophy in London at the university and being a man that likes to travel, he accepted and now we're here."   
There was a silence, she was unsure of what to say next.   
"So...what do you do for fun around here? What are your interests?" Kristine asked, trying to make small talk.   
"Chemistry, detective work...violin."   
"Violin? Really? You take me as more of a...piano type."   
"Oh no, I could never get into it, what made you choose the cello?"   
"Uh, I've always just liked the way it sounded I guess." She cleared her throat. "So you also said detective work?"  
"Yes, deductions, cold-readings, investigation."   
"Cold readings?"   
"Just by looking at you I can tell that you love to dance, ballet, but of course what else is there? You also love horseback riding on your uncles farm, hiking and the outdoors, chilly nights around a campfire.   
You miss camping and you wish your father would take you out more. You're free-spirited, energetic, benevolent, a little awkward, playful, optimistic, intelligent, clever, feisty, adventurous, loyal, impulsive, fun-loving, quick-thinking, enthusiastic, loving, hardheaded, stubborn-"   
"Hey!"   
"Don't interrupt me." He held his hand up, "you speak English fluently but think it could be lacking in some areas. You have a very determined side but your also very caring. You had a cat when you were a child, named Loki-"  
"Floki." She said with a smile.   
"Stop interrupting me."   
"Sorry."   
"You love Christmas, its your favourite holiday, probably because your birthday is in December."  
"No, October 15th. But thats okay, tell me more!" She said eagerly, turning to face him.   
"You wish to dance ballet professionally, you have an audition for the Royal Ballet School coming up which your nervous about. Don't be, you'll do great."  
"You think so?"  
"How could you go wrong? You're clearly passionate about dance, you've been dancing most of your life so, you'll do well."  
Kristine smiled, "thank you Sherlock. I think your amazing."  
"Really?"  
"Yeah, I've never met anybody who can do what you do...its incredible!   
"That's not what people usually say."  
"Well what do they usually say?"   
"Piss off."   
The two had a laugh, Kristine sighed and looked up the sky.   
"Its beautiful isn't it? The moon...since I arrived here its been nothing but clouds."   
"How do you say moon in Norwegian?"   
"Måne."   
"Måne..." Sherlock repeated. "Do you miss it? Norway?"   
"Very much." She cleared her throat. "But since I told you my birthday you have to tell me yours."  
"Why?"  
"Curiosity."   
Sherlock smiled, "January 6th 1981."  
"Oh so your a year older than me?"   
"I suppose so. You mentioned a sister, how old is she?"   
"Nineteen."   
"I have a brother, he's seven years my senior. My parents named him Mycroft."   
"Wow, thats quite the age difference. My sister is called Elsa."   
"Kristine!" Her mother called from the doorway of the backdoor.   
"Yes, mamma?"   
"Come inside now, elskling."   
"Bare et øyeblikk!" She called back, she turned to Sherlock and placed a kiss on his cheekbone. "See you later." She got up from the bench and grabbed the bow.   
"Yeah...see you."


	2. Chapter Two

It had been months since they first met in July, Being the only person Kristine knew she stuck by his side, and being the only person that willingly hung out with him, he enjoyed her company. She loved it when he made dedications and read people, sometimes clapping excitedly when he did so. And if he was being honest he found her adorable, partially due to how short she was but also her personality she had a lot of life in her for a mouse sized human being. Most of their time was spent out in the garden or in one of their bedrooms, both of them came and went from each others houses as they pleased. Sherlock's parents adored her and her parents liked him, so it wasn't odd for one of them to open the front door and walk around like it was their house. But eventually in September Sherlock had to go back to school at Eton and she was to begin her studies at the Royal Ballet School.   
But now they were both back for winter break and they continued on like they hadn't been separated at all. 

 

On the afternoon before Christmas Eve he found her outside in the snow, it was still soft since it started this morning and ended not long ago. She was sitting with her legs up to her chest on the bench. Her hair was down today and he noted that it grew longer then when they first met.   
He walked over and sat next to her.   
"So I see your family is all decorated for Christmas." Sherlock said, blowing air into cupped hands to warm them, he had forgotten his gloves inside but didn't feel like going back in to fetch them.   
"Yes, since Christmas is tomorrow."  
"Christmas Eve, theres still two days." Sherlock corrected.  
"We do things a little differently up north. On Christmas Eve the first half of the day is used getting last minute presents and things that you need or its spent at church. Around 5:00 my family has Christmas dinner at home or with relatives and after we eat, we open presents. Christmas Day is very quiet and the shops don't open again until the twenty-seventh." She smiled and thought of something else to say.   
"Some families including mine have a little tradition on the twenty-third...which is today, its called lillejulaften. My mamma makes something called risgrøt. Its hot rice pudding served with sugar, cinnamon and butter. Its really good, it makes you feel all warm and cozy inside. Anyway, in the pudding a single peeled almond is mixed in and whoever gets the almond in their portion gets a marzipan pig. And of course we usually make gingerbread houses and decorate the tree but we did that after breakfast. What do you guys do for Christmas?"  
"Well, its pretty much the same except we have dinner and open presents on the twenty-fifth. Dinner is usually turkey-"  
"Turkey?" She asked, sounding a little amused. "Like in the movies?"  
Sherlock smiled, "yes, like in the movies. Have you ever had it?"   
"Some families have turkey but I've never tried it. My mamma makes pinnekjøtt, stick meat, its usually lamb in my house or we'd have ham roast, both if we're having family over. Is Mycroft coming home for Christmas?"  
"I don't think so, he hadn't said anything."   
Kristine frowns, "but he should be coming home, Christmas is a time for family, and you're family."   
"Do you have anyone coming? From Norway?"  
"My uncle is coming in the day after Christmas." Kristine suddenly got an idea, "why don't you come over for risgrøt?"   
"Are you sure?"  
She stood up from the bench and pulled him up, "yeah, it'll be fine, my parents like you."   
"They do?"  
"Yeah."   
She led him to the back door where they kicked the snow off their shoes before stepping inside and taking them off. Kristine's mother is very peculiar about a clean house. Sherlock's jaw dropped at the kitchen, it was decorated, highly decorated. Sherlock thought it looked like something straight from a Christmas catalog.   
"What are those little gnome things?"  
"Those are called Nisse, and they aren't really gnomes, they're more like elves. The legend goes that the Nisse are creatures who assists with daily farm chores in return for respect and a simple bowl of risengrynsgrøt with butter at Christmas. But if he doesn't get respect and the porridge with butter he craves at Christmas, there are dire consequences. There is a legend and I can't remember what its called but it goes something like...erm...a young girl decides to trick the nisse by putting the butter on the bottom of the bowl of pudding instead of on the top. When the nisse looks at the pudding and sees it has no butter, he kills the family's best cow. After eating the pudding and realizing the butter was just on the bottom, he steals the best cow from the neighboring farm to replace the one he killed."   
"How...interesting. Also please tell me these are all of the decorations."   
"No, you haven't seen the living room or the dining room or the bathrooms...the bedrooms..."  
"Oh dear Lord."   
Kristine giggled and walked over to the coatrack, hanging her coat up. Her mother was sitting in the living room, reading a book, she looked up at the two teenagers.   
"Hello elskling."  
"Hi mamma."   
"Hello Sherlock, how are you?"  
"I'm fine Mrs. Svendsen." The living room was much worse...who needed a tree that big?  
"Anne please Sherlock. You're making me feel like my husband's mother."   
Kristine smiled, "we'll be upstairs."  
"Keep your door open."   
"Yes mamma." She took Sherlock by the hand and led him upstairs.   
The hallway was also decorated. Kristine opened her door, Sherlock's eyes widened.   
"Oh...dear Lord. Kristine why?"   
Her bed had white and red plaid sheets with a white duvet and Christmas pillows. She had Christmas lights strung on high the walls, by the ceiling. She had a Christmas tree by her dresser. Her cello sat by the window, the curtains were changed, covered in small reindeer. Under his feet was a red rug with snowflakes on it. Little knickknacks littered the room too.   
"This is insane, you realize..." He said, sitting in her swivel chair, picking the nutcracker off her desk.   
"Maybe to you, perhaps. But I like it."   
"I never understood the appeal of Christmas."  
"Its a time for family and friends, warmth and hot chocolate. Food, Christmas movies...decorating a tree...playing in the snow. What's not to like?"   
"What's your favourite Christmas movie?"  
Kristine scrunched her face as she thought about the question. "If I had to choose one it would probably be...How the Grinch Stole Christmas. You know the little cartoon based off the Dr. Seuss book. If not that one then perhaps...The Nightmare Before Christmas. But I've heard some people argue about it being a Halloween movie even though its mostly about Christmas."   
"Do you celebrate Halloween?"  
"Not really. Its still fairly new in Norway, not a lot of people do. I think this year is the first time I've really seen it outside movies like Hocus Pocus and that movie with the man in the white mask."   
"Halloween."  
"Yes, that one. I wasn't allowed to watch it because my mamma didn't want me to have nightmares."  
An amused smile crossed Sherlock's face.   
"What?"  
"Nothing, thats just...cute."   
Kristine rolled her eyes. She laid back on her bed, "so I got a new pair of pointe shoes yesterday."  
"What happened to your other ones?"  
"They died."   
"Died?"   
"Yes." She got up from her bed and walked over to the closet, sliding the door open she grabbed her stool to reach the shelf. Grabbing the old shoe she handed it to Sherlock.   
"The platform has softened too much. I can feel my toes on the floor when I dance and the support is gone."   
"Your feet are so small." He said with a bit of marvel in his tone, she took the shoe from him and put it back.   
"Well...I am...vertically challenged."  
"Vertically challenged? Is that what we're calling it?" Kristine narrowed her eyes at him and closed her closet door.   
"Yes, that's what were calling it."  
"How tall are you again."   
"Five-three."   
"So tiny."   
"You know sometimes I want to punch you in the face."   
"You aren't tall enough."   
"You've sunk low enough for me to reach." Before Sherlock could spit out a comeback, Elsa knocked on the doorway, "mamma vil vite om du to vil se en film."   
Kristine looked at Sherlock.   
"Sikker på hvorfor ikke." She grabbed his hand and pulled him downstairs.   
They took the love seat, her mother and father had the couch and Elsa was speed out on the armchair.   
"What did we pick?"   
"Elsa wanted to watch Home Alone, the sequel one."   
"Oh I like that one, thats the one where he's lost in New York City right?"  
Her father picked up the vhs case, "yes." 

Halfway through the movie her mother made them all hot chocolate and Kristine had pulled the furry blanket around her legs, leaning into Sherlock a she sipped from her mug. To make himself comfortable he readjusted himself and placed one arm on the back of the love seat. 

When the movie was over her mother came out of the kitchen with bowls of risengrynsgrøt and set the marzipan pig on the table.   
Sherlock was a little hesitant about it at first but he seemed to like it after a few bites. Kristine was a little disappointed when she didn't find the almond. But a hum from Sherlock drew her attention. He took out what was between his teeth and examined it. "I found the almond."   
"Well congratulations Mr. Holmes," Kristine began in a teasing way, "you've won your very own marzipan pig." She picked it up off the table and placed it in his hand.   
"Do I eat it?"  
She raised a quizzical eyebrow at him. Sherlock took the hint and closed his eyes at the stupid question. He bit into it and made a face.   
"What? Don't like it?"   
"Never cared for marzipan."   
Kristine shrugged and took it out of his hand, biting into the opposite end.   
"Well I love it."  
"Kristine usually wins every year." Her father explained. "I think this is the first time she's ever lost to someone else." 

 

When it was dark Sherlock announced that he should probably head home, Kristine offered to walk him to the door, mostly just an excuse to hear the snow crunch under her feet.   
She walked him the few steps to his front door and they stopped under the porch lights.   
"Well, I'll see you after Christmas I guess." Sherlock said, he went to open the door but on impulse Kristine grabbed him by his jacket and pulled him down so she could press a kiss to his cheek. Letting him go she shoved her hands into her pockets and smirked bashfully at him, walking backwards towards her front door.  
"God Jul, Sherlock." She turned around and opened the front door.   
Sherlock stood there for a few minutes, completely frozen, processing what had just happened. She kissed him, she kissed his cheek. Well she had before once, on the night they just met. That was quick and chaste, this time there was feeling behind it, genuine feeling, but what he had a hard time with was, what kind of feelings?   
The front door opened and he was startled back to reality. His older brother was standing there, eyebrow raised.   
"There you are, I was just coming to fetch you. Come inside, its cold."   
Sherlock walked through the front door and took off his coat.   
"You were at the Norwegian girls house weren't you?" Mycroft asked, closing the door, the wreath left swinging.


	3. Chapter Three

After Christmas, Kristine dragged Sherlock out. It had just snowed the night before, and she wished to go to London, having not had the change to properly enjoy the city yet. Almost immediately she wished to go ice skating.   
A bus ride to Hyde park, two pairs of rented skates and a shaky start later, they were both on the ice. Kristine had went ahead of him, showing off with spins and tricks. After she wanted to go for a walk, which wasn't unusual, a lot of people walk around the park during the winter.   
"Where did you learn to skate like that?"  
"On a frozen fjord in the winter time with my uncle. He took Elsa and I up to his cabin near Tromsø one year when I was about seven I think. I wanted to see the Northern Lights and that's the best place to view them. They really are unlike anything I've ever seen, photographs don't do them justice, they really don't. Then theres also the midnight sun."   
"Midnight sun?"  
"Its like a prolonged sunset and sunrise at the same time. The sun is visible for twenty-four hours."  
"For how long?"  
"During the summer months. My parents took us up to Lofoten for Elsa's thirteenth birthday I believe." She said, a shiver ran through her body which didn't go unnoticed, especially since she was attached to his arm.   
"Hot chocolate?"  
"That would be wonderful, yes." 

He took her down a path to a traffic light. They crossed the street into a little café, it was a bit more crowded than Sherlock would have enjoyed but he couldn't have Kristine freeze. They were given a small u-shaped booth, they both guessed the waitress thought the two were on a date. Kristine placed her mittens on the table and rubbed her fingers together, trying to warm them.   
"Cold?"  
She nodded. Sherlock moved his arms from under the table and grabbed her fingers, rubbing them in his hands.   
"Better?"   
She nodded and he stopped, but he held onto her hands, examining them. Her hands were dainty and slim with long round nails, the tips kept round and the nails covered in a sheer pink polish. But they were so much smaller than his. He compared sizes. The tip of her fingers only came up to the bottom of his middle phalanx. Sherlock chuckled, a smile playing on his lips.   
"What?"  
"Your hands are so tiny."   
"I'm...a small person."   
"I know but...its adorable."   
"Can I...have my hand back?" She asked. He let it go, chuckling nervously she tucked her hair behind her ear.   
"So I was thinking, perhaps later the two of us could play together? We haven't gotten a chance yet and I think it would be pretty cool."   
"Sure, why not?"   
Kristine smiled, the waitress walked over to them with a tray. "Sorry about the wait," she said, putting the two mugs on the table. 

________________________________

"Passacaglia, the impossible duet for violin and violoncello by Handel-Halvorsen." Sherlock read when she set down the music.   
"Are you sure you want to start with that? We could do something a little easier..."  
"Whats the matter Sherlock? Afraid you cant keep up?" She teased.  
"On the contrary my Kristine, I'm worried about you not being able to keep up with me."   
"Do you always think so highly of yourself?"   
"Are you always so eager to show off?"  
"Now, now Sherlock. I think you have me confused with someone else."   
She looked up at Sherlock who had a smirk on his face, "ready when you are."   
They both turned to face the music. 

Her parents and his parents, who had come over for tea, could hear them from downstairs.   
"Isn't that lovely?" His mother commented, head turned up towards the ceiling. "Its rare to hear him play for fun, its usually always when he's thinking. I'm glad our children are friends."   
"As are we." 

Sherlock watched her face as she played, she didn't seem to blink as she focused intently on the music, eyebrows locked together in concentration, her gaze not once drifted to her hands, she didn't need to see what she was doing, she knew exactly when each note was, when it came, when to pluck the string. She was mesmerizing to watch. And of course Sherlock had already memorized the piece, having attempted it in secret by himself so he didn't need to look, he was more content on watching her instead. Kristine was something special, she was highly intelligent, she danced, she played the cello, she could keep up with him in every aspect. She was the farthest thing from an idiot like he had thought most people to be. Sherlock thought about the possibility of her meeting Mycroft, pondering over what that would be like. If she could keep up with him, Mycroft would barely be a problem. And he would probably like her, perhaps he would. What wasn't to like about her? Beautiful, graceful, intelligent, caring, benevolent, charming. His mind traveled back to when he had called her "my Kristine", yes that didn't go over his head. He knew it came out of his mouth, and he didn't correct himself. She was his, his one companion for lack of a better word. His mind traveled to years down the line, where would they be? Still friends? Would she find someone else to spend her time with? Would she be too busy with her career as a dancer and forget him? He even entertained the idea of them being involved in a romantic way, but Sherlock was never one for romance. He never paid any attention to it on the television or in the novels he sometimes reads. Did he even feel love, is the question. He wasn't sure. But then again he is young, quite young with his sixteenth birthday coming up in a few short days, he had plenty of time to figure it out.   
The song shifted into a stringendo. When it ended Kristine tried to catch her breath, laughing softly. She ran a hand through her hair. "I did it," she whispered.   
"You were remarkable."  
"Thank you, you weren't so bad yourself."   
They could hear the applause from downstairs, "I think they heard us."   
The pair tried to keep a straight face but burst out laughing.   
"I think we should go downstairs."   
"Or we could play it again?"   
"Do you want to?"  
"Very much."   
Kristine smiled and brought her bow to the strings for the second time.


	4. Chapter Four

Spring, it was spring and it was raining.   
They came home for spring break three days ago and its been raining almost nonstop since then.   
"It rains here a lot," she said, looking out the window.   
"Its not that bad."   
Kristine scrunched her nose up in disgust. "Pappa and I were supposed to go on a hike today. I think this is the first year were we haven't gone during the spring break."   
She sighed and closed the curtain.   
"So, what do you want to do?"  
"We could play Cluedo." He suggested.   
"No, absolutely not. No."   
"What? Why not?"  
"You ignore the rules!"  
"Well the rules are wrong!"  
Kristine sighed and thought about pulling the barre out from her closet but she was sure Sherlock wouldn't want to watch her dance, but she had to do something before...   
"Bored."   
Before that.   
Sighing she walked over to the bed and laid next to him, their feet tapping on the hardwood, well her's didn't exactly touch the floor.   
"We could watch a movie?"  
"No."   
"Um...I could teach you Norwegian." She turned to look at him.   
"Why not? Could be beneficial to know what you're saying all the time." He sat up. She followed him with a sigh and sat across from him.   
"Okay so I guess we could start with the basics. Hello is, Hallo."   
Sherlock rolled his eyes, making her laugh, "say it Sherlock."  
"Hallo."   
"Okay...goodbye is, ha det bra."   
"Ha det bra."   
"Good, actually I think you might get the hang of this quite quickly."  
"What makes you say that?"   
"Mm, probably because you're a genius."   
"Oh, thank you for the compliment."   
Kristine playfully pushed him over. 

________________________________

Sherlock walked into her house, as her parents allowed. He passed her mother in the kitchen.   
"Good afternoon, Sherlock." She said.   
"Afternoon Anne, is Kristine home?"   
"Yes, shes just upstairs."   
Sherlock looked on the counter, she had what looked like lamb and cabbage on the surface.   
"What are you making?"  
"Fårikål, you're welcome to stay for dinner if you like."  
"If you insist." He left the kitchen and walked upstairs, from the landing he could hear the faint sound of the Pixies on her stereo. When he opened the door she was at the barre, one leg stretched on top as she bent down. He knocked and she turned around, ever so gracefully.   
"Oh Sherlock! When did you get here?"  
"A few minutes ago."   
"Any particular reason?"  
"Bored." He mumbled.   
"What?"  
"Bored!" He said a little louder.   
"Well we could continue your Norwegian lessons..."  
"Dull."   
"Violin?"   
"Lacking."   
"I could let you play cello." She suggested. "Or I could teach you the folk dance you read about when you tried to impress me that one time."   
"I was not, I stumbled upon it at the library."   
"Springar isn't exactly something you come across when you aren't looking for it."   
Sherlock didn't answer her, he just sat down on her bed.   
"Well, what do you suppose we do then? Watch some television? We could go hiking?"   
"No and no."   
Kristine stood there with her hand on her hip, she brought one foot on point and flexed it. "I'd suggest a walk but its probably going to rain." She walked over to her bed and sat next to him. Sherlock pierced his lips together and looked at her with a blithe expression. "I could teach you how to waltz."  
"You know how to waltz?"  
"Of course I do," he said, he stood and took her hand in his. "Place your hand on my shoulder...and then my hand goes around your waist. And then one, two, three." He begins to move them around the room.   
"This is harder to do in pointe shoes." She admitted.   
"Do you want to take them off?"  
"No, no...this is fine."   
Without warning he spun her, by instinct she propped up on arabesque, he quickly grabbed her by the waist, she looked up at Sherlock and smiled. "Sorry, habit."   
Sherlock cleared his throat and gently let go of her. "Not to worry, it happens."   
Kristine stood up straight and looked up at his face.   
"You okay Sherlock? You're looking a little red."   
"I'm fine, its just warm in here."   
"Do you want to continue your lessons?"  
"Vær så snill." He said. 

________________________________

It was finally sunny after what seemed like endless rain. Kristine suggested a walk, she wasn't sure where exactly, but she made sure to wear her rain boots.  
About half a mile away from the houses was a little wooded area. And of course Kristine went straight for it. Sherlock had no choice but to follow her, not that he minds an adventure at all. He just was unfamiliar with this area. He lost her for a moment, he couldn't see her anywhere.   
"Kristine?"   
"Over here!"   
He swerved in between trees, she was standing in front of a large, tall oak tree. "Do you want to climb it?"   
"The tree?"  
"Yeah, what? You've never climbed a tree before?"   
"No."  
Kristine smiled and looked at the tree again, "first time for everything, c'mon." She began to climb, she made it look simple enough. But he quickly figured out that she was experienced and worked out regularly so she had the strength to pull herself up.   
"Couldn't you have picked another activity?" He asked in a strained voice.   
"C'mon Sherlock, you can do it!" She hoisted herself onto a large sturdy branch and sat there, waiting for him to join her. When he sat down he was out of breath.  
"Knew you could do it Sherlock!"   
"You made it look...so easy." He said, catching his breath.   
"Practice." She said, leaning back.   
"Kristine..." Sherlock turned around in time to see her swing back and hang upside down, both hands holding onto the bark.   
"Sit up are you crazy?"   
"Possibly." She let one hand go, dangling in the air.   
"Kristine!"   
She let go of the other one, she let out a string of giggle as she hung upside down.   
"What's the matter Sherlock? Afraid I'm going to fall?"   
"Kristine I'm serious, sit up."   
Sighing she pulled herself back into a sitting position, "there. No harm done."   
Sherlock looked at her with sternness in his eyes, "don't do that again." He told her quite seriously.   
"You were afraid I was going to fall." She whispered, eyes widening.   
"What was I supposed to do if you did?"   
Kristine closed her eyes and shrugged, "but as an experienced tree-climber I can tell you with confidence that I've never fallen out of a tree...recently."   
"Recently?"  
She scrunched up her face and looked at him innocently, "I broke my arm once, falling out of a pine tree."   
"Once?"  
"Twice." She looked out towards the sky, she could see where the trees ended, the field they walked across and their houses. "Its a beautiful view though."  
"I guess so, yes. Erm Kristine?"  
"Yes?"  
"How do we get down?"  
"Same way we came up."   
He let out a long, rather melodramatic sigh.   
"Oh don't be such a baby, it gets easier." 

Eventually they did make it down from the tree.   
"Why did you make me do that?"  
"For the adventure, c'mon." She spun around and continued through.   
Most of the trees had not grown their leaves fully yet, but she looked up anyway, staring at the little beads of green on the branches that stood out against the blue sky. Sherlock caught up with her and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back. She turned to him, annoyed.   
"Wait for me," he said, grabbing a firm hold of her hand.   
Smiling she continued onwards, "that's the spirit." 

________________________________

"So its warm outside so I thought we could go swimming."  
"Swimming? Where?" Sherlock asked, looking up from his experiment.   
"I found a lake not to far from here about...three miles north."   
"How would we get there? We can't just walk."  
"I got an extra bike."

 

C'mon Sherlock!" Freya called as she rode her bike down the trail, towards the water."   
"I'm coming, hold on!" She made it to the cliff first, the sun shown down on the water, making it appear blue instead of grey. Getting off her bike she turned to him as he arrived, unbuttoning her sundress, she kicked it away when it pooled around her ankles, leaving her just in her underwear.   
She stepped out of her flip-flops and waited for Sherlock.   
"What are we doing?"  
"The water's just down there."   
"You expect me to jump off a cliff...into a body of water?"   
"Yeah."   
"Kristine..."  
"Oh c'mon, where's your sense of adventure?" She backed up and took a running start for the water. Jumping off she let out a scream of exhilaration. Deciding to join her he began to undress, when he heard the splash followed by laughter, he smiled.   
She spotted him on the cliff and cupped her hands around her mouth, "woo! Nice boxers Holmes!" She yelled, trying to stay afloat in the water.   
He took a running jump and dived into the water. But when he didn't surface she grew concerned.   
"Sherlock?" She called out, "Sherlock?" Nothing, "okay c'mon, this isn't funny!" Something grabbed her leg and pulled her underwater, she opened her eyes and stared at Sherlock who had his cheeks puffed like a chipmunk. Running out of air quickly she popped back up, Sherlock followed, running his hand down his face and shaking some of the water from his hair.   
"Du røvhull!" She yelled, splashing him with water. He held his arms out in defence from the attack and swam for her, grabbing her waist. "Beklager," he apologized.   
"That wasn't funny!"   
"It was a little funny."   
"Yeah for you maybe! You fucking scared me I...was this payback for the tree yesterday?"   
He chuckled and she splashed him in the face with water.

They laid out on a large rock in the sun to dry.   
"Well I don't know about you but I think this was a perfect way to end spring vacation, don't you?"  
"Yes, it was quite nice."   
Kristine chuckled, "don't worry, I'll make an adventurer out of you yet Holmes."   
"I'd like to see you try."   
"Challenge accepted, but hey, at least you aren't bored right?"   
Sherlock blinked, she was right, he wasn't. She managed to keep him busy almost all week.   
"Kristine?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Do you know how to get back up the cliff?"  
"I'll leave that up to you genius."


	5. Chapter Five

Summer. Sherlock was coming back today and she was quite exited. She had come back a few days ago and was just itching to see him again.   
She stared out her living room window, waiting for his parents car. And lo and behold it showed up. Kristine squealed and ran out of the house in her summer dress, she jumped up to hug him, her feet dangled off the ground, one of her flat shoes hung off her foot. Sherlock held a tight grip on her, making sure she didn't fall on her arse. The familiar scent of rose, lilies and patchouli entered his nose, at this point it was beginning to smell like home.   
"Velkommen hjem." She said when he set her down.   
"Takk skal du ha."   
"Jeg savnet deg mens du var borte." She said, taking one of his bags from the trunk. A jolt went though his body, she missed him. Someone who wasn't his parents missed him. He wasn't exactly sure how to process this so instead he just said, "Jeg...savnet deg også."   
Kristine smiled at him and set the bag down in his bedroom. His was smaller than her room, with a twin bed, desk and dresser, he had a periodic table on the wall by his bed and a chemistry set on his desk.   
She went around and helped him unpack. Well she mostly did the unpacking, if she wasn't he would probably just let it sit there until his mother did it.   
"So I see you've been learning Norwegian while you were away."   
"Yes, its easier than I expected."  
Kristine snorted and turned to him, "thats not what people usually say."  
"Well I'm not your average person."   
She shut the drawer on his dresser and smiled to herself, "no, you aren't." She was suddenly reminded of something and turned to face him. "Listen Sherlock, um, my cousin Ingrid is getting married this weekend and I'm allowed to take someone and since your my only friend I was wondering if you would come with me?"  
"With you? To Norway?"  
"Yeah. You won't have to buy a ticket, her fiancé has money and bought tickets for us and plus ones for Elsa and myself. But I don't think she's bringing anyone."   
Sherlock sighed, "well I mean I'd have to ask my parents."   
"I...already took the liberty and asked them."  
"You asked my parents for me?" He asked, standing up to face her.   
"Yes. And they said it was fine, and c'mon Sherlock. Where's your sense of adventure?" He looked at the spark in her eyes, a bit of that free-spirit he'd come to know was pouring out of her. Sighing he nodded, "alright. I'll go with you. But its your fault if I get bored."   
"Don't worry, you won't."

________________________________

"This is so boring...how long will it take us to get there?" Sherlock mumbled while they sat in the airport waiting for their plane.   
"Oh will you relax, its only a three hour flight."   
"Three hours?" Sherlock rubbed his forehead, "Kristine I'm miserable."   
She rolled her eyes and nodded over to a couple by the window, "why don't you read them? Something to keep you busy, I'm going to go get something to eat, I'm starving."   
She got up from her seat. But almost as soon as she stood up, someone else took her seat. Sherlock turned to them, almost offended. "Excuse me, my friend was sitting there."   
"So? You snooze you lose, kid." 

When Kristine came back with a bag of crisps and a energy drink, the man walked past her, "your friends a freak!" She turned around and watched him scurry away.   
Kristine blinked with confusion and turned back to Sherlock, he looked up at her innocently, like he hadn't just insulted the man and told him he had liver cancer. She sat down and looked at him sternly, "Sherlock..."  
"What? He took your spot."   
"What did you tell him?"   
"Well first I pointed out his minimal IQ..."   
Kristine opened the bag and nibbled on them, listening to him intently.   
"...and then I told him he had liver cancer, all the signs were there."  
"Sherlock."   
"Well, I could have kept it to myself but I thought I should tell him."   
Kristine sighed and offered him the bag, "I suppose he's going to see a doctor now."   
"Most definitely...Kristine?"  
"Mm?"  
"You don't think I'm a freak do you?"  
"No, your just Sherlock. Thats just who you are? And who knows you better then me?"  
"Mycroft."   
"Okay, who knows you better and likes you better than me?"   
"You have a point."  
"Of course I do." 

________________________________

Rollo's farmhouse was large, quite larger than what Sherlock had expected. Easily containing five bedrooms at least, based purely on size. Kristine explained that the house and the land had been in her father's side of the family for generations, built from the ground up.   
Her cousin parked the car and told them that she'll see them inside. Kristine nodded and the four of them, including Ingrid's fiancé, left the car. Her uncle was standing by the door, waiting for them.   
"Kristine!"  
"Rollo!"   
The giant man engulfed her into a hug, and he was giant. Tall like his brother and her sister. However he was the tallest, gracing 6'6". Rollo was also muscular and round with a long blond beard.   
"How are you?"  
"I'll be better once you put me down."   
He set her on the ground and Sherlock swore standing next to him, she quickly resembled a Hobbit from the Lord of the Rings books she made him read. Kristine was already short, but now she was just tiny. Sherlock wasn't short either, just slightly above 6'0, he was easily intimidated by his size though he wouldn't show it on the outside, he tried to keep a straight face at all times. But Rollo was a jolly man, kind and humorous.   
"How's Sven?"  
"Asleep, lazy dog. Where are your parents? And Elsa?"  
"They're coming, they sent Sherlock and I ahead of them."   
"Ah, so this young lad must be Sherlock."   
Rollo walked up to him and shook his hand, "he's a skinny little thing isn't he?"   
Sherlock frowned at him, Kristine shook her head and mouthed, "be nice."   
Reluctantly he smiled at the man. "Nice to meet you"   
"Well, lets get inside, hey?"   
They followed the man inside, the house was nice and open, large windows looked out at the field and mountains behind them.   
"Are you two hungry? I got a nice lamb rack going, should be ready in a few hours."   
"That sounds great uncle."  
"Uh, your rooms are upstairs, Sherlock will be sleeping in the guest room across from yours, Kristine, you'll be good to show him where it is?"  
She nodded, "can we go out to the stables first? I'd love to see Freyja."  
"Sure, go ahead."  
Opening the back door she led Sherlock outside towards the large stables.   
"How many horses does he keep?"   
"Six." She said, locking the doors to keep them open.   
"Four mare's and two stallions, Freyja, Sif, Ida, Åslaug, Erik and Björn."   
She walked straight up to the white mare and stoked her muzzle.   
"How well does she remember you?"  
"Well enough, I used to ride her the most when I'd come to visit." Kristine got an idea. "You want to ride one?"  
"Ride what? A horse?"  
"Yeah, why not? I mean I'm not really qualified to teach but it seems like fun."   
"How reassuring."  
"Relax, you'll be fine. Why don't you try Björn?"   
"Which one is he?"  
"The white and brown one."   
Kristine let them get to know each other before she would let Sherlock begin to saddle him. She grabbed his bridle off the hook. 

When Björn was ready she left to do the same with Freyja.   
Leading her out of the stall, she met with Sherlock outside.   
"Watch me okay, I'm sure you can do it on your own." She placed a foot in one of the stirrups and hoisted herself on. Despite Sherlock's long legs it took him a minute to get the hang of it.   
"There we go, you got it."  
"It feels awkward." He complained. "And uncomfortable."   
"It just takes some time to get used to, that's all."   
"How do I get him to move?"  
"Björn responds when you click your tongue and left the reins."   
Sherlock followed his instructions and started moving. Sherlock looked over at Kristine with a look of wonderment on his face.   
Kristine clicked her tongue and gave Freyja a little pat on her neck. The mare moved to walk next to Björn.   
"So I think we should focus on walking before we really start riding. Mostly because you have a death grip on your reins, loosen it up a little. He won't throw you."   
Sherlock nodded and took her advice. They walked in circles, around the fence.   
"So the tall man in the car, that's her fiancé right?"  
"Yes, his name is Kristof."   
"Do you like him?"   
"Uh, yes I think, I don't know. I hardly know him." She remembered the first tome she met her and cringed a little. "Actually we didn't know about him until Ingrid announced the engagement."   
"She never told you about him?"   
"No, I never asked why, I don't think I should, I mean they are grownups. They can make whichever decision they choose."  
She stopped Freyja and held her hand out to make Sherlock stop Björn.  
"What?"  
"Rabbit nest, Björn was about to step on it."   
She guided the horses away.   
A smirk crossed her lips and she turned to Sherlock. "I think we should run now."   
"What? How do I do that?"  
"Just ease him into a trot by leaning forward, then when you feel confident enough, then into a gallop and I won't judge you if you stop there...well I might a little."   
"Kristine."  
"Sorry, and to stop him just, lean back, shoulders straight and pull the rein back but keep your hands low, don't pull them up by his ears. Got it?"   
"I think so."  
"Good," Kristine said and started on a trot. 

Her family stepped out of the car and looked at her out in the field, at this point she had Freyja at a steady run, while Sherlock was still building his confidence on the back of a horse that seems to be a bit snippy with him now that Kristine wasn't around.   
Elsa walked past her parents towards the house. Sven, Rollo's Buhund came bounding out the door, having been asleep when a Kristine and Sherlock arrived. Elsa bent down to pet the dog.   
Anne let out a sigh and turned Gustav, "she's barely been back and she's already on that horse." She complained, looking out at Kristine.   
"Oh let her live dear, she has a wild heart. You were like that once when we first met."   
"Yes but then I came down from the clouds and began to build a career. She needs to start figuring out what shes doing with her life."   
"She knows what she's doing, she dances!"   
"Being a dancer will only take her so far Gustav. She needs to look at life realistically." She opened the front door and went inside.   
Gustav looked out towards her, a carefree smile on her lips, hair loose and shinning in the sunlight, she was free and wild. "I think she has it figured out." He joined his wife.


	6. Chapter Six

Sherlock tugged on his jacket again for the sixth time.   
"I look ridiculous," Sherlock mumbled looking at himself in the full length mirror. Hearing the sound of footfall, Sherlock turned around. Kristine came in the bedroom, clasping the bag onto her belt. Her bunad was a dark navy blue, along the bottom there is an embroidered flower ranch that grows up the stack, in wool yarn. The liv is similar to the stack in colour and embroidery and is stitched to the waist and it closes with silver chains. She walked over to the bed and picked up her shawl, the same in colour and embroidery as the other pieces. She grabbed the cufflinks and attached them to the hem of her sleeves.   
Her hair was done up in the braid crown, the silver clasps and pendents matched her eyes wonderfully. She smiled at him and readjusted his waistcoat. "You look fine," she assured him, "very traditional."   
"Is this mandatory? Cant I just wear a suit?"   
"Stop complaining Sherlock," she sighed, "its not mandatory no, but its what Ingrid wants."   
She walked over to his bed and picked up his hat. She held it out to him, he looked at her with puppy dog eyes but she just stared at him expectantly, sighing deeply he snatched the hat and put it on.   
"There." She took a step back. "Du ser veldig kjekk ut."  
"You look um," Sherlock cleared his throat, "you look good."  
Kristine chuckled and tucked a few loose strands behind her ear, "thank you. My grandmother made it." It dawned on her and her hands flew up to her mouth in excitement. "Oh! You get to meet the rest of my family today!"   
"Are they all ridiculously tall?"  
"No...yes. Its a mix. Growing up my mother thought that I would be tall too, because I had long legs, but apparently not." She sighed and grabbed his hand.   
"Anyway, lets go. And don't forget to smile and act pleasant please. And keep your readings to yourself."  
"I can't promise anything."

________________________________

"Why aren't you dancing?" Her mother asked, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.   
"Sherlock," she said simply.   
"Ah, shy is he? I was too during my first dance."   
Kristine laughed, "no, not shy, he just finds it boring."   
"Maybe he wouldn't find it so boring if he tried it, does he know any dances?"  
"I've taught him a few." Kristine looked passed her mother, Sherlock was walking towards her.   
"Ah, speak of the devil and the devil shall appear."   
"Anne, Kristine."   
"Feeling any different?"  
He shrugged, "well weddings still aren't my thing but I think I can make an exception, and I'm willing to try one of those ridiculous dances you've taught me."   
Kristine smiled up at him, "well I'm glad to see you're making an effort."   
He offered his arm and she took it. "I've noticed something too."  
"What did you notice?"  
"Since we've got here, your accent has gotten fifty-percent stronger."   
Kristine smacked him playfully. They joined the group of people, moving in 3/4 time.   
"Do you ever think you'll get married?" She asked.   
"No."   
"Why not? Your perfectly wonderful." She said as they spun in a circle.   
"To you perhaps, you're well aware that I tend to rub people the wrong way, and I have been told I lack...tact and that I'm a arsehole. Besides marriage a foolish notion. Two people who currently live together attend church, have a party, go on a short holiday and then carry on living together. What's so special about that?"   
When the dance ended, she looked up at him.   
"I'd marry you." She whispered sweetly.   
"Kristine!" She looked over at her cousins, Olga, Norah and Olaf, they were waving and gesturing her to walk over. She stepped away from Sherlock, "I'll be right back."   
Sherlock watched her scurry over two the three who called, they started to whisper and chatter with excitement. He couldn't stop the tender expression that crossed his face, mulling over her words, she said she'd marry him. He didn't exactly know what to take from that to why he was looking at her the way he was. He watched her speak to her cousins, laughing and having fun, without him, might he add. A sharp feeling of jealousy washed over the sixteen year old boy. Its a feeling he's never felt before but didn't particularly enjoy. His mind drifted to a thought, a thought of what if one day she stops being friends with him, what would he do then? No one else had accepted him the way she has. She encouraged him to be himself. And adored him for the way he is. The word for what he was feeling flashed in front of his eyes, sentiment. He was sentimental towards Kristine, he adored her in return. Suddenly she rushed towards him and pulled him by the arm, other to his cousins. All three had ginger hair and two looked extremely identical.  
"Sherlock, these are my cousins. Norah, and the twins Olga and Olaf. Cousins, this is Sherlock."  
"Nice to meet you Sherlock." Olaf moved to shake his hand. "Kristine spoke highly of you."  
Sherlock looked down at the blonde. "Did she?"   
"Of course, Kristine has always hade trouble making friends, we thought it was because she was too wild, but then she told us about you. I think she's calmed down since you met, just from purely observing this evening. Your a good influence on her Sherlock." 

________________________________

Sherlock walked out of the house, having not found Kristine anywhere inside. A horse in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned around and watched the white mare run across the field with Kristine on her back. Her light hair flew and whipped around behind her like the very horse she sat on. Upon closer expectation he saw she was ridding bareback. The door opened behind him and Rollo stood beside him. "There she goes."   
"How often does she ride?"  
"Every day when she visits, since she was a little girl. I had a fjord horse back then, beautiful creature, she was old but small enough for her to ride. Kristine formed a bond with Frigg until she died when Kristine was ten. She was devastated, we expected her to stop riding after that but a few days later one of my mares had a foal, pure white. Kristine was there when she was born and named her."  
"Freyja."   
Rollo nodded, "yes, the horse she's on right now. She won't let anyone else ride her except Kristine."   
Sherlock looked out at them, jumping over a hurdle.   
"You care about her don't you?"   
"I suppose so."   
Rollo raised his eyebrows, "you suppose? Do you or do you not?"   
"She's my friend. My only friend actually, so yes. I care for her."   
"Your not the emotional type, I can tell. Yet as I observed, you change around her, don't bottle up your feelings for Kristine, you'll regret it someday if you do." He said before going inside.  
Hooves drew his attention, by the stables, Kristine slipped off Freyja and led her inside.   
She met him outside the house, a huge smile was stretched across her face.   
"Hey," she greeted, "I would have offered a ride but you were sleeping and I didn't want to wake you."   
"Its fine, I don't think horse riding is my thing."  
"Well you did look a little ridiculous," she agreed, he looked at her offended for a moment but she just chuckled, "c'mon. Its time to let the cattle out." She grabbed his hand and dragged him along.

________________________________

Cloud gazing, Sherlock never saw the appeal. It always seemed so mundane. But Kristine enjoyed it for some reason. There was nothing too it except laying in a field of grass, looking up at the sky, pointing out formations in the clouds that were terribly vague that could possibly anything. Or they just looked like clouds.   
On this afternoon she pulled him out, they've been laying on the blanket for what felt like hours, having tiny little conversations with soft voices, occasionally turning to look at each other. While Kristine looked up at the clouds, Sherlock was much more interested on watching her. She let her hair down, little hairs flew around her face in the summer breeze. He liked the way her eyebrows and eyelashes were a few shades darker than her hair. Those sea blue eyes were focused on the sky. He watched her eyelashes tickle her cheeks as she blinked. Her cheeks, always held a rosiness to them, though she never wore makeup off of the stage. She doesn't like the way it feels on her skin.   
He took the time to count every freckle that graced her face, eighty-six in total, the freckles on her shoulders, one-hundred-and-twenty-seven, and the few scattered around her arms and collarbones. Her lips were parted in a dazed sort of smile, the corners twitching every few seconds and they too held a rosiness like her cheeks. It was warm enough where they didn't need sweaters. Her sundress came up to her knees, it was cream with a faded floral pattern. The straps were thin and fake buttons on the chest. Her shoes were off and beside her. She kept her toenails blue.   
Her foot brushed against his calf, accidentally of course, or was it? He wasn't sure. Sherlock looked down at her hands that she kept at her side, he moved his until it touched hers, he looked up for a reaction. She just stared head on at the sky. He grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. "Is this okay?"   
Kristine smiled, "yeah." She shifted until she had her head on his shoulder, still holding his hand.   
"Do you see that one?" She asked, pointing up with her other arm.   
"What about it?"  
"It looks like a Gjallarhorn."   
"And that is?"  
"In norse mythology its um, one of the most prized possessions of the Gods. Heimdall, the Gods' ever-vigilant sentry, keeps watch over their celestial stronghold Asgard day and night with the Gjallarhorn in his hand."   
"How much do you know about Norse mythology?"   
She propped up on her elbow to look at him.   
"Quite a lot, it interested me as a child, its kind of like you and chemistry. If I wasn't so passionate about dancing I would...probably want to be a history teacher. I love history, as you know from snooping about my bedroom."  
"I don't...snoop, I merely observe."  
"Call it what you want."  
"Why don't you tell me story?"   
"Really? You normally get bored when I tell you stories."   
"Something changed my mind."   
Kristine chuckled and placed her forehead on his shoulder. "Okay, I'll tell you one," she settled her head back on his shoulder. "This is the story about Thor and the Midgard Serpent."   
Sherlock let go of her hand, he freed his arm only to wrap it around her shoulder softly. "One day, Thor left Asgard disguised as a young man and came to a giant named Hymir. Thor stayed the night with the mighty giant. At daybreak Hymir got up and dressed and prepared to go sea-fishing in his rowboat. Thor sprang up and asked Hymir to let him go with him. Hymir said that he wouldn't be of much help, as he was such a scrap of a young fellow: "You'll catch cold if I sit as long and as far out to sea as I usually do." Hymir said. Thor told the giant he would be able to row a long way out from the shore, and that it wasn't certain that he would be the first to demand to be rowed back. He became so angry with the giant that he was ready to set his hammer ringing on his head. He controlled himself as he intended to try his strength in another place. He asked Hymir what they were to take as bait, but Hymir told him to get his own. Then Thor turned away to where he saw a herd of oxen belonging to Hymir. He selected the biggest ox, one called Sky-Bellower, and struck off its head. Thor took the ox-head on board, sat down in the stern, and he rowed. Hymir thought they made rapid progress from his rowing. The giant sat in the bow, and together they rowed until they came to the place where Hymir was accustomed to sit and catch flat fish. Thor said he wanted row much farther out, and they had another bout of fast rowing. Then Hymir said that they had come so far out that it would be dangerous to sit there on account of the Midgard Serpent. Thor, however, declared his intention of rowing and did so. Hymir was not at all pleased at that. When Thor shipped his oars, he made ready a very strong line and a large hook. He baited the hook with the ox-head and flung it overboard. The Midgard Serpent made himself known to them and snapped at the ox-head. The hook stuck fast in the roof of its mouth. It jerked away so hard that both Thor's fists knocked against the gunwale. Thor grew angry and, exerting all his divine strength, dug in his heels so hard that both legs went through the boat until he was digging his heels in on the sea bottom. He drew the serpent up on board, staring straight at it. The serpent glared back, belching poison. Hymir turned pale with fear when he saw the serpent and the sea trembling in and out of the vessel too. At the very moment that Thor gripped his hammer and raised it aloft, the giant fumbled for his bait knife and cut Thor's line off at the gunwale. The serpent sank back into the sea. Thor flung his hammer after it and people say that this struck its head off in the waves; but the truth is that the Midgard Serpent is still alive and is lying somewhere in the ocean. Thor clenched his fist and gave Hymir a box on the ear so that he fell overboard head first, but Thor himself waded ashore."


	7. Chapter Seven

Sherlock hadn't seen Kristine all day. It was warm and sunny so he was sure she would be outside. So he let himself in the house and found Elsa laying on her stomach on the couch, reading a magazine.   
"Kristine isn't here." She said without looking up at him.   
"Where is she?"  
"The orthodontist."   
"What is she doing there? Her teeth are fine." Elsa sighed and got up from the couch, "apparently they aren't." She walked past him and headed upstairs.   
Sherlock, having nothing better to do decided to wait in her bedroom.   
It was usually always clean, except for the occasional ribbon or leg warmer strewn about. Her desk was always covered however, usually in sheet music or with a stack of history books and novels from her bookshelf. She always kept her bed made, cream sheets with a yellow blanket. But something was missing. The brown arm of a stuffed animal caught his attention and he bent down to pick it up; her stuffed moose named Bo. He recalled when she first told him about Bo, she was all embarrassed about him but she's had the thing since she was a baby so it made some logical sense to keep it, for sentimental value.   
Footsteps made him turn around, Kristine was standing there, looking completely miserable.   
"Hey, what's wrong?"   
"I got braces."   
It took a lot for him not to laugh, "braces? Is that why you went to the orthodontist?"   
Kristine nodded, "my teeth hurt and its giving me a headache." She sat down on her bed but immediately stood up.   
"Oh, you found Bo! I was wondering where he went." She grabbed hold of the stuffed animal and sat back down.   
"What colour are they?"  
"Yellow." She said.   
"Of course they are. Why do you like yellow so much?"  
Kristine shrugged, "I just like yellow."   
"I don't understand why you got braces, your teeth appeared fine."  
"Thats what I thought too, until a few months ago when my dentist was like "no no no, you need braces"."   
Kristine opened her mouth as much as she could with that forsaken metal contraption in her mouth. "I have a slight underbite and a cross-bite. Along with the braces I also have elastics and a bite-plate." She said, she opened her mouth enough for him to see.   
"That looks like a nightmare."   
She nods approvingly. "And they've only been in my mouth for two hours and everything hurts. And to think I have to go through two years of this bullshit."   
Sherlock noticed a little bit of drool drip down her chin, turning around he grabbed a tissue from the box on her desk and handed it to her. She stared at him confused.   
"Your drooling."  
"Oh...thank you." She wiped her face. "I'm in hell. And I cant eat anything fun. Plus I dance, how am I supposed to do pique turns or jeté when it feels like someone is pulling my teeth out!" She flopped down on her bed, face into her pillows. Sherlock walked over and sat down, he awkwardly extended his hand and gave her a pat on the head. "There, there. Its probably not that bad?"  
She sat up straight and glared at him, "not that bad? Have you seen what they did to my mouth?"   
"Yes I did."   
Kristine groaned and let her head fall back on the pillow. "I'm already getting picked on, so this'll just make it so much worse."   
His head snapped around to look at her, expression lined with concern. "Who's picking on you?"  
"A couple boys and girls in my dance class."  
"Why?"  
"Because of my chest."  
Sherlock blinked, feeling a bit awkward, and confused. "Your chest?" He's never really bothered to look past her face before. He does notice the clothes she wears yes, but he hasn't really paid much attention to most of her body. Kristine was a healthy weight for a girl her age, petite yes, but healthy. If Sherlock had to take a guess he'd probably say around eight and a half stone.   
She was wearing a bra but it was ill-fitting, they did appear large under her shirt but he didn't see that as something to worry about.   
"My mamma is going drop me off at the mall in about an hour so I can go...bra shopping. I really don't want too. I don't need another excuse to look at my body."   
"I could come with you...for emotional support."   
"Really?" She asked, eyes lighting up for a second before she smirked, crossing her arms. "This isn't just an excuse to stare at my chest is it?"  
"You wound me Kristine, I honestly don't care about that type of thing. I just want what makes you comfortable."   
Kristine smiled, "sure, you can come." 

________________________________

Anne parked the car outside the mall and the two teenagers got out.   
"I'll pick you both up at 5:00."   
Kristine nodded and grabbed Sherlock's hand, leading him inside. As soon as the doors opened they were met with noise and large crowds. Holding his hand a little bit tighter she walked towards the map directory.   
"Here," Sherlock said almost instantly, pointing to a square on the second level.   
"Thanks."   
They walked to the escalator, Sherlock rearranged their fingers so they were laced together, he preferred it that way, it was a bit more comfortable. 

She stood outside the horrible pink sign that screamed VICTORIA'S SECRET in bold letters. Kristine bit her lip and looked around nervously.   
"Come on," Sherlock pulled her inside.  
"Are you sure your comfortable with this?"  
"Its just underwear Kristine, nothing strange about it."   
He found a consultant and smiled at her, putting on his harmless person voice.   
"Hi, um, my girlfriend needs to get fitted, she's just a little shy about asking."   
Kristine looked up at him, girlfriend? Why didn't he just say friend? Did he think of her as more than a friend? Or was this an act for the consultant? Either way it made her cheeks heat up and her heart skip a few beats, she lowered her head to look at her shoes.   
"Oh its no problem, happens to most, can I just get you to unzip your jumper and let him hold your bag."  
Kristine glared at him and took off her mini-backpack, handing it to him before pulling the zipper down on her sweater.   
"Arms raised for me please, thank you."   
The consultant spent the next few minutes attacking her with measuring tape, humming as she did so.  
"I'm going to say a thirty-two D, I'm going to pull a couple bras for you to try," she took a plastic sign off a hook and led her into the dressing rooms. She picked an empty one and opened the door. Kristine stepped inside and looked around, pink, pink, pink. Everything was pink. She looked at the mirror and cringed. She hated looking at herself in the mirror, absolutely hated it. But that was normal for a fifteen year old girl, wasn't it? She turned around to read the rules on the door, beside that was a white t-shirt.   
The woman knocked and handed her a few bras. "The t-shirt is so you can see what you look with a shirt on and ring the bell if you need assistance. Kristine nodded and closed the door. She sat down on the small round bench by the mirror and let out a deep breath. She really didn't want to do this. But she had to. Standing up she took of her t-shirt and tried the bras on, they were all pretty colours, so she didn't hate them that much. She grabbed the shirt off the hook and put it on, checking every angle. She did this four times. She thought the t-shirt bra was the best option and rung the bell.   
"Finding everything okay?"  
"Yeah, they fit okay, I think I'm going to go with the t-shirt."   
"Would you like to pick out a few more designs and colours?"  
"Sure."   
"Okay, just hand me the others when your done." 

When she stepped out Sherlock turned around and gave her a reassuring smile. She handed the consultant the other bras and went around the store with Sherlock on her tail. He tried to help her out by picking up bras with different designs and patterns.   
"What about this?"  
"No, I kind of just want...solid colours. Or black."   
Sherlock nodded and wandered off somewhere. He came back with a simple mustard yellow bra, in her size no less. Kristine smiled and took it from him. "Thank you, Sherlock."  
"Your welcome. Now, are you ready to go because I'm starting to become uncomfortable."   
"Oh, yes of course. I think five should be okay."   
She walked up to the cash register and put them on the counter.  
"Did you find everything okay?"  
"Yes, fine thank you." 

 

"Do you want to get something to eat?"  
"I'd love to but, braces."   
"Right, of course. Coffee then?"   
"Please."   
She sat in the overly crowded cafeteria waiting for Sherlock to get back with their orders and sure enough she saw him coming, holding a hot coffee for himself and an iced for her. He sat down and slid her the larger one with the straw.   
"Sorry it took longer than expected, the barista was entirely incompetent."   
"Thats okay, I didn't mind the wait." She took a small sip and looked at him, "thank you for coming with me, you didn't have too."   
"What are friends for?"   
Kristine smiled but it quickly faded.   
"What?"   
"Nothing its just...I was thinking about when I go back in a few weeks. I don't have anything to um...cover myself."   
"Why are you so concerned about your breasts?All girls have them."   
"I know they do its just....I'm at a ballet school to join a company after I graduate. And my body is not what its supposed to be."  
"Oh who cares? It should be more about how good of a dancer you are instead of how small your body is." He took a look at the expression on her face, "you don't think you're beautiful, do you?"   
She gave him an awkward shrug and looked towards the frozen yogurt kiosk. "I don't know, I've never really felt pretty? I know I'm not ugly but...I've just never...." she sipped her coffee, putting it down on the table. "But since I now have braces and watermelons strapped to my chest I feel...less?"   
"You won't have braces forever and in reality your chest isn't that large, just a tad bit over average actually. And I'm usually not one to pay attention to beauty but I happen to think your very pretty."   
"You do?"  
"Well I wouldn't lie to you if I didn't, would I?"  
"No, no you wouldn't."   
"And to hell what they think at the RBS, I bet they couldn't dance half as good as you."   
A shy smile took over her face and she looked down at the table, trying to hide her red face, "you really know how to make a girl feel special, don't you?"  
"No, just you, because your the only one that matters." 

________________________________

Summer was drawing to a close. She met Sherlock in the garden with her cello. Sherlock had composed a new piece for two that he wished to try for her. He turned around to see her balancing a tray with two glasses of lemonade, her cello case and her own music she had been working on. He found it amusing that she had her tongue stuck out in concentration. He put his violin down rushed for her.   
"Here, let me help."  
"Thank you, Sherlock."   
He grabbed the tray and set it down. She put her music and case down on the bench and took out her cello, she began to tune it.   
"So, what have we today?"  
He directed her to the music stand.   
"Freyja." She read out loud, "you wrote a song about my horse?"  
"Actually I wrote it about you."  
She looked up at him, eyes sparkling. "Me? You wrote a song about me?"   
"Yes," Sherlock simply said, flashing her a small smile. "Shall we begin?"   
Kristine nodded and sat down on the bench."   
"After you," Sherlock announced.   
Taking a deep breath she began the piece. The beginning was playful and lively. There was an innocence about it with a hint of beauty. As soon as Sherlock started the tone changed, but not by much. Kristine couldn't help but feel like she was looking at herself through his eyes and how he saw her. He called it Freyja, the goddess of love and beauty, among other things of course. But it was those two things that stuck out at her the most. She wondered what Sherlock thought about her, where she sat in his life. How he perceived her. He told her she was the only one that mattered. She thought about the first moment they met, in the same spot they are now. How he, almost instantly knew everything about her, and how she was captivated by him almost immediately. She thought back to how he was cold-hearted towards others and a bit abrasive. But he was a completely different person around her. He was softer, kinder. Almost like she made him better.   
Sherlock looked down at her as she played, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Sherlock had written the piece shortly after they had returned from Norway. He thought the goddess of beauty was a perfect fit for her, even if he wasn't usually one to notice that sort of thing. Being a sociopath and all, well in his mind anyhow, but high functioning. He wasn't exactly sure what he felt for her. Fondness most definitely, did he adore her? Yes he did, just like she adored him. He's still afraid of how she makes him feel, the butterflies, the giddiness, the tender, sentimental feelings. They've known each other for a year, only seeing each other in person every few months, the rest spent in letters and phone calls. Yet at the same time, Sherlock felt like he's known her his whole life. She knew things about him he never dared to tell anyone, she knew his secrets just like he knew hers. He knew of her insecurities having noticed them almost immediately, her body being the main problem in her mind, which wasn't uncommon for a young girl coming into herself. But it surprised him how she didn't know how beautiful she was, even if she didn't think she was ideal because of the pressure of her peers, he didn't quite understand how she felt like she needed to look a certain way to be ideal, to be perfect. She was to him, shouldn't that be enough?   
He also applauded her determination to keep him stimulated with activities to prolong the inevitable frequent boredom that he would be subjected too. He wondered what he had done to have her in his life. He never expected to have a friend, let alone a best friend which could most definitely change if he could ever let his feelings out in the open, but it wasn't so easy you see. Though, Sherlock had a feeling Kristine knew how he felt, she was a quick-thinker and intelligent after all, she could figure it out, and it seems she had. As the song ended she acted on pure impulse, she stood up and pulled Sherlock down, stepped up on her toes, pressing a kiss to his lips. It was a sudden move that made him stumble back, he held onto her back with his bow in his hand, the other holding his violin.


	8. Chapter Eight

The end of summer and Kristine didn't want to go back yet.   
The two had set the day aside to go to the beach together, she mentioned that she hadn't been swimming at all since she arrived here so Sherlock set aside his personal comfort for her, but just for today and today only. When he woke up that morning he had hoped for rain but frowned when he opened his curtains and found the sun. Shutting the curtains with a groan he found something acceptable to wear to the beach and walked the few steps to Kristine's house. Opening the front door he walked upstairs and down the hall to her room. She was standing in the full length mirror wearing something that looked like a sports bra, but it flattened her chest entirely.   
"What is that?" He asked, startling her, she jumped and turned around.   
"Jesus Kristus Sherlock! You scared the hell out of me!"   
"Beklager, what are you wearing?"   
"Its a..." she cleared her throat, "its a chest binder."   
"Why are you wearing that?"   
"So I'll be able to dance easier and hopefully they'll leave me alone about the size of my..." she took a deep breath. "Look, it makes me feel better, okay?"   
Sherlock walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her in a hug.   
"I wish you didn't feel like you had to cause yourself discomfort just to look a certain way."   
Kristine nuzzled her face against his chest, "the things we do for art," she joked. "Though I think I have to go on a diet. My hips are starting to look a little round."   
Sherlock pulled away from her enough to grab her chin, making her look at him. "Kristine, you're fine. You don't need to go on a diet."   
"You say I don't yet you remind Mycroft about his all the time."   
"I know but the main difference is, he is my brother. You are not, but if you feel like you need to lose weight, do it safely."   
She smirked at him and looked at the yellow two-piece on her bed and sighed. "I should get ready now."   
"Yes, please."   
She smiled and nodded towards the door, "go wait outside, I'll let you know when I'm ready to go."   
When the door shut she unclipped the binder and stared at the bikini laid out on her bed. With a deep breath and a nod she put it on.   
Kristine stared at herself in the mirror, covering her chest with her arms, staring at her midsection. She was beginning to round a little on her stomach and her hips were rounder than they were at the start of the summer. She thought about what she had eaten every day since she got back. Her eating habits haven't changed. She ate three times a day with the occasional snack, so why was she...? Kristine shook her head and grabbed her coverup on the back of her desk chair, just a white crochet dress. On her desk sat her beach bag. She checked the inside. "Hat, water, sunglasses, large beach towels, sunscreen...spf 90. Lip-balm, after sun lotion...a book for myself, a puzzle book for Sherlock...actually." She walked over to her bookshelf and pulled out another, "better take two, snacks in case he gets hungry, I could do without right? Yeah it'll be fine. I'm fine." She slipped her feet into her flip flops and grabbed the bag.  
Sherlock turned to her when she opened the door.   
"Ready?"   
She nodded and he offered his hand. 

________________________________

The moment they got to the beach Sherlock cringed.   
"You agreed to this you know," she reminded him.   
"I didn't think there would be this many people."   
"A lot of people are going back to school on Monday, so yes. Its busy." She grabbed his hand and pulled him down, they found a good spot not to close but not to far from the water. Putting up the umbrella she unrolled the towels and kneeled down, sitting on her feet. Digging into her back she began to set up. When she laid out the puzzle books, Sherlock raised an eyebrow.   
"What? I know you'll get bored. Also do you know how hard it was to find books you haven't completed yet? Very hard. I also packed some snacks in case you get hungry. Some fruit and stuff."   
"Biscuits?"   
"Yes, I brought your biscuits." She laid the book out on the towel.   
"Valley of the Dolls? Haven't you read that already?"   
"Its a good book."  
She looked off towards the water.   
"Sunscreen," Sherlock reminded her.   
"Right yes, sunscreen." She got onto her knees and took off her hat, fluffing up her hair. Shining pale yellow in the sun. Gathering her dress by the hem she rolled it up her body and took it off, pausing to fold it neatly. Sherlock watched her apply the sunscreen, well he tried not too, he stole the occasional glance.   
"Sherlock?"  
"Hm?"  
"Could you get my back?"   
"Erm, okay."   
She shuffled until her back was too him, she handed him the sunscreen and moved her hair out of the way. He put some in his hands and cringed outwardly at the smell of artificial coconut and tropical nonsense.   
He started at her shoulder and worked his way down. When he was finished he wiped his hands and she turned around.   
"Are you going to take your shirt off?"  
"No."   
She frowned, a little disappointed, "okay, well at least..." she put a little sunscreen on her finger and wiped it on his nose and cheeks. "Protect your face."   
She got to her feet and took off her flip-flops.   
"Where are you going?"  
"For a swim." Was her simple answer before she went off towards the water. He wondered how she found something so simple so enjoyable. He wondered how nice it was to not be prone to boredom. Kristine never seemed bored, she always seemed to find something to do, always. Sherlock grabbed one of the puzzle books she had brought and opened it. Finding a pencil at the bottom of her bag he got to work. The first one was simple, the second was dull, uninteresting, easy, dull, dull. However he was distracted enough were he didn't see her leave the water, only noticing her at the point where her shadow stretched over the towel and she blocked the sun. Water droplets collected on her body from the sunscreen. Her feet were covered in sand, some of it had spread to her calves.   
"How's the water?"  
"Wonderful, how's the puzzle?"  
"Mundane."   
She hummed and laid down on the towel.   
"What are you doing?"   
"Well, I might as well get a little bit of sun while we're here." She said with a wink. "Don't let me fall asleep, okay?" 

After a while the puzzles became boring and he opted to watch her instead. It was strange to see this much of her body exposed. He's never seen her stomach before, it was flat and lean, from years of dance. She did have a freckle right by her belly button, and several scattered around her skin adding to the others. Kristine had a scar on her hip, it was white and puckered. Sherlock spent the better part of twenty minutes trying to conclude what it was from, she broke his train or thought as she rolled onto her stomach, using her arms as a pillow.   
"Dimples," Sherlock whispered, noticing the little indents on her lower back. He was compelled to touch them, for scientific reasons, well that is what he told himself.   
She flinched when the tip of his finger touched back, she opened one eye and stared at him, "what are you doing?"   
"Nothing, but you should probably reapply your sunscreen, its been a bit longer than eighty minutes."  
"Could you do it for me? I'm comfortable."

________________________________

Sherlock was lounging on her bed, reading a book on Norse mythology she had practically thrown at him when the "b-word" left his lips. But he was hardly focusing, he was more interested in Kristine. She was wearing a leotard over tights and leg warmers with ballet slippers on her feet. She had pulled her barre out of her closet earlier, soft piano music played over her radio as she worked.   
Sherlock had lowered the book, keeping his nose covered, she was bent down in a grande plié. When she came back up she opened her eyes and looked in her mirror, she noticed him staring and turned around.   
"What are you looking at?" She inquired playfully.   
"Nothing in particular."   
"Nothing huh?" Kristine crossed her arms, giving him a cheeky smile.   
"Am I not allowed to watch you?"   
"Well I thought you would be more interested in the book."   
"On the contrary my dear, I found something much more interesting." He got off the bed and was towering over her in one fluid movement.   
"Dance with me?"   
She placed a hand on his shoulder and he grabbed her waist. Holding her hand he whisked her around the room, humming the waltz over the piano in the room.  He got carried away in his movements, he bumped into her bed and fell onto it, taking her with him. She squealed and fell on top of him.   
Kristine lifted her head to look at him.   
"Sorry," she said, getting off of him.   
"No need, I got carried away."   
Kristine chuckled and stood up. "I should probably continue over here, you can watch if you'd like." She grabbed hold of the barre and continued where she left off. 

 

She saw Sherlock to the front door. The sun was setting and his mother wanted him home with school around the corner.   
"I'll see you later." Kristine said, shutting the door.   
"Kristine?" Her mother called from the living room. She backed away from the door and looked in the living room. Her parents were sitting down on the couch, boxes sat around the living room.   
"Um...what's going on?"   
"Have a seat, elskling." Looking around the room quizzically she slowly sat down.   
"I'm sorry Kristine, but..."  
"But?"  
"We're moving."   
Kristine blinked quickly, confused. She looked at her mother and tried to process this, "moving? Back home?"  
"Yes, elskling."   
"Did something happen?"   
"It just didn't work out for us, here."  
Tears blurred her vision, she struggled to take a deep breath in, her chin quivered. She took a moment to calm herself before asking.   
"When do we leave?"  
"Er...tomorrow."   
"Tomorrow?"   
"Yes, in the morning." 

 

Kristine opened the front door of his house and stepped inside. His mother looked up from her book in the living room. "Oh, hello Kristine."   
"Hi..."  
"Are you alright dear?"  
"Fine, um...is Sherlock upstairs?"  
"Where else would he be?"  
Nodding she walked up the stairs. His bedroom was down the hall, on the left by the linen closet. His door was open so she knocked on the doorframe. He turned around, to look at her, her eyes were red and puffy, she sniffed a lot.   
"Kristine? What's wrong? Why are you making that face?"   
"I'm um...I'm moving Sherlock...we're going back to Bergen."


	9. Chapter Nine

Her father placed the last suitcase in the trunk and walked over to Kristine to take her cello. He firmly shut the trunk and got into the drivers seat. She took that as her cue to say goodbye. Turning to Sherlock she blinked back tears and sniffed, giving him a smile. "So I guess this is it." She whispered.   
Sherlock nodded, trying his best to hide the quiver in his chin and his glassy eyes.   
Kristine raised her arms and he bent down to hug her, lifting her off the ground.   
"Jeg ønsker ikke å miste deg," he whispered, "jeg vil ikke at du skal gå."   
Kristine shut her eyes tightly, a few tears spilled onto her shoulder. Eventually he had to let her go and put her on the ground, she wiped her eyes, "Jeg vil ikke gå."   
"I know."   
"Jeg kommer til å savne deg."   
"I know."   
She took a step closer to him, "can you do something for me?"  
"Anything."   
"Kyss meg?"   
Smiling ever so slightly he cupped her face, fully aware of the watching eyes of their parents. He captured her lips with his. It was slow and sad, he didn't want to let her go, he had no one else. But they had to break away.   
"Fremtiden er åpen," she whispered. "Kanskje vi vil se hverandre igjen."   
"Jeg ser frem til det."   
"Kristine," Her mother called, "we have to go now."   
Nodding she rushed to give Sherlock's parents quick goodbyes and walked towards the car, turning around only to look at him once. He watched her get into the car and he watched it disappear down the road, and just like that she was gone. 

________________________________

Kristine walked into the house she never thought she'd see again. She was home, but why didn't it feel that way? Something about it just seemed so...out of place. White replaced red. A deck replaced the garden and water replaced the grass. Holding her cello in a firm grip she walked up the stairs. The sound of the hardwood under her shoes sounded foreign to her now, she turned around, almost expecting to see her behind him, but the hallway was empty. Her face filled with disappointment. Opening her bedroom door she stepped inside, it was still the same, her bed in the centre of the room her dresser, the large window and her yellow curtains. Setting her cello down on the floor she walked over to the window and opened her curtains. Holding the latch in her hands she pulled it down, welcoming the sound of chatter from the fisherman, the sound of seagulls, the smell of the ocean. And for a moment the ache in her chest softened, it didn't hurt as much. She stepped away from the window, her mother was standing in her doorway.   
"It'll be a few days before our things arrive, we'll just have to hold out until then."   
Kristine nodded and took out her cello, sitting on the edge of her bed.   
"I'll um, I'll leave you too it." Her mother said, shutting the door. 

________________________________

Sherlock sat at his desk, experimenting. He found something interesting in his findings, "Kristine," he called, but when he didn't hear the shuffle of her footsteps he turned around, he was the only one in his room, it was just him, he thought she must still be at home.   
Getting up from his desk he went downstairs. Her house seemed quieter than usual, darker, empty. He tried to open the door and found it locked, they usually never locked the door until it was dark. Heading around the back he tried that door, shoes crunching in the snow. It too was locked.   
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Making his way back to his bedroom and found something to pick the lock with.   
When he was inside, it was dark, everything was off. The furniture was still there but everything was bare, empty shells. He walked up the stairs and opened the door to her bedroom.   
"Kristine?"   
Empty, everything was empty, she wasn't there. She was gone.   
When he left the house his parents had returned home.   
"Sherlock? What were you doing in there?"   
"I was looking for...Kristine."   
"Kristine moved back to Norway son, she's been gone for months." His father said.   
"What?"

________________________________

"I can't stand to see her like this anymore, Gustav. I can't see her so depressed anymore." Her mother said, putting fresh sheets on the bed.   
"Well what do you suppose we do?"  
"We could take her to Rollo's? She loves it there. Perhaps that'll cheer her up."   
Her father mulled it over and rubbed the beard he had grown. He stood and ran his hands down his wife's arms, lowering his head so his chin rested on hers. "Perhaps we could." 

Gustav opened her bedroom door and found her at the barre, sighing he sat on her bed, pressing her fingertips together, "Kristine, how would you feel about going to Rollo's for the weekend?"   
"I suppose it could be fine," was her response, she stepped away from the barre and changed the music before walking back to it.   
"Be ready in an hour, okay? I'll drive you, just us." He stood up and left the room, shutting the door.

 

The car ride was spent in silence. She just curled up in the passengers seat, looking out the window. When the car parked she got out and walked towards the house, the front door opened and Sven came running out, barking excitedly. She gave the dog a pat on the head, walking inside. Rollo watched her disappearance upstairs before he turned to his brother.   
"She's still..."  
"I understand, that boy meant a lot to her."   
"I'm sure they'll find each other again one day."   
Kristine walked out the side door towards the stables. Her father smiled, "perhaps this was a good idea after all." 

Inside she walked for Freyja's stall, the mare looked up at her and stood. Kristine held out a hand and stroked her muzzle, giving the horse a small smile. "Hey girl, its been a while. What do you say about a ride huh?" She smiled a little at Freyja. Opening the gate she led her outside. Rubbing her shoulders she grabbed the end of her mane and vaulted onto her back, placing a hand on her withers as she did so. Clicking her tongue she gave her neck a pat and she began walking.   
Her father and uncle watched from outside the house.   
"I'll never understand what was so appealing about riding bareback." Gustav said.   
"You'll never understand it because you were too chicken when we were young."  
"Now now Rollo, we're too tall to ride horses anymore."   
The men chuckled and turned back to Kristine. 

Letting out a whistle, Freyja began to gallop at a steady pace. "C'mon girl," Kristine coaxed, "lets go a bit faster, c'mon." A smile crossed her lips, a genuine real smile as Freyja began to run, loving the wind rushing through her hair. The gate was open, she steered the horse through, running off onto the open field. 

"Where is she going?" Gustav asked.   
"The fjord most likely, where else would she go? Come on, lets go have a drink." Rollo gave his brother a pat on the shoulder and opened the door, stepping inside. Gustav took another look, but she was too far away to see. 

 

The fjord, one of Kristine's favourite parts of coming out here. She sat on Freyja's back, looking out a the sight. The water was always impossibly blue and calm. The cliffs that surrounded the water were massive, covered in trees and grass. There was a waterfall beside them from a stream that Freyja had drank from when they stopped. On the other side, a herd of sheep were eating from the grass, a man was watching over them, she couldn't see his house though, or the farm he had. The old man saw her across the way, on a horse. He walked away from his sheep for a moment to wave at her. She waved back, a breeze came through, blowing her hair in her face. The sun peaked out from a cloud, shinning down on her face. She welcomed the warmth on her skin. Part of her wished she had taken Sherlock when he was here last summer. She wondered how he was doing. Was he okay? How was he spending his time? She also wondered if he thought about her. Or if she was just a memory locked away in a keepsake box inside his head.   
Suddenly Freyja started moving, Kristine turned her head. A moose was making her way for the stream, obviously wanting a drink. She guided Freyja to the side to give the massive creature space. She's only ever seen a moose up close once before, during a camping trip when she was twelve. But she's never been this close before. She kept Freyja steady until it was ready to leave, moose usually tend to be shy creatures but can be unpredictable at times. The moose walked away, back into the wooded area off the path.   
Kristine clicked her tongue and Freyja began to walk towards home.


	10. Chapter Ten

2009

The morning sun shined over her apartment in Oslo. Her alarm screeched at her, she freed one of her arms from the warm cocoon of her blankets to hit against the top until she found the button to turn it off. When the infernal sound ceased, Kristine, now twenty-seven, sat up in bed. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and looked around her bedroom. It was messy, clothes strewn about, a haphazard pile of sheet music on her desk, her cello sat beside it, she was in the middle of replacing the strings last night and must have gotten too tired.   
Sighing deeply she threw her blanket off and got out of bed. She looked in the full length mirror beside the bathroom and groaned. She looked like a mess. Some of her hair had fallen out of her bun, making it appear like she had been electrocuted. Her body was...fine. She thought anyway. She was a healthy weight, a bit big for a professional ballerina, but she looked like a woman, properly proportioned with good sized hips and nice legs. Her arse and chest could both be smaller to fit the ballet aesthetic, but she didn't really care all that much anymore. And truthfully the company didn't care all that much either. Walking into the bathroom she got ready for work and left at a reasonable time. The walk to the opera house wasn't long. Just a couple minutes.

Already inside the dressing room was her friend Janelle.   
Janelle was a first soloist with her. She saw Kristine and stopped putting on mascara and walked up to the short blonde. The brunette towered over her, which wasn't hard for someone to do, Kristine hadn't grown from her petite stature of five-three.   
"How do you think the season will open?" Janelle asked, Kristine smiled at her friend and rubbed her forehead. "Probably Swan Lake or Giselle, maybe Sleeping Beauty."   
"Did you hear about Sabrina?"  
"No, what's happening?"   
Kristine walked over to her chair and propped her bag up on the table, taking out her makeup.   
"I heard she's retiring, getting too old she said."   
"Oh." Kristine cringed a little and began to put on mascara herself. "Thats sad, she's such a beautiful dancer."   
"But that also means you may have a shot at being the principal, you may be a first soloist but you ain't no principal, girl."   
Kristine laughed and put her mascara down.   
The others spilled in and started to gossip. 

 

"And up, two, three, four." The ballet mistress  
said and walked around the room.   
"Exquisite as always, Kristine."   
They continued to warm up on the bar until she clapped her hands.   
"Stop." She said.   
The company relaxed. Standing up in the pews was the director. He gave the go head to continue.  
"Okay, take the position. And one, and two, and three and up."  
The director went around the room and began to tap dancers on the shoulder. Kristine waited for him to tap her on the shoulder as he had in the past, she was one of the shorter dancers, he tended to pick the taller girls for lead roles.   
"We all know the story, Manon, a beautiful girl, falls in love with a handsome young student, they elope in Paris."  
He tapped the girl behind her on the shoulder, she suppressed the urge to smile and giggle and just continued dancing.   
"But when the wealthy Monsieur G.M. asks Manon to be his mistress she is torn between a life with Des Grieux and one of luxury."   
He claps his hands and the music stops.   
"Good morning, company."   
"Good morning."   
"We are opening the season with Manon. The production needs a new face, someone fresh to present to the world."   
Kristine looked around the room.   
"All the soloists I tapped, go to your scheduled rehearsals this afternoon. And the girls I didn't tap, meet me in the principal's studio at 5:00. Thank you." 

 

Kristine walked in with the other girls at precisely 5:00.  
When it was her turn she prepared herself, getting into the head of Manon.   
Her movement flowed with the music, her grey eyes focused on the director for a moment to see him nod before spotting herself again.   
"Wonderful." He said when she was finished.  
"Wonderful Kristine, have a seat now, darling."   
Kristine smiled and took a spot on the floor, grabbing her water bottle.

She called her mother about the spontaneous audition, or at least she thought it was.   
"I mean maybe I have a shot." She said into the phone.   
"Well I say you have more than a shot." she said, "you're exquisite."  
Freya looked over at her bedside clock and sighed. "Shoot, its late, I gotta go, I'll talk to you tomorrow." She hung up the phone and crawled under her duvet. 

________________________________

One of the girls went around, saying that the cast has been posted.   
Kristine finished putting her hair up, Janelle grabbed her hand and pulled her forward. Kristine was almost too anxious to look.   
"Hey, Kristine! Congratulations!" One of the corps girls pulled her into a hug. On the white paper was her name under 'Manon.' Everything became surreal at that moment, she didn't hear the girls speaking to her.   
She managed to escape to the girl's washroom and dialed her mothers number. She answered almost right away. She heard her crying on the other end and got concerned.   
"Kristine? Are you alright? What happened?"  
"I'm fine, um, He picked me, Mamm."   
"For what?"  
"He picked me, I'm Manon."   
"I knew he would, he would be a fool not too."   
She wiped the tears away.

________________________________

Freya moved through the crowd of people with the director, her hair was up in an elegant twist and she wore a high-lo strapless dress in a soft pink with 3d floral detail.   
He picked up two glasses and handed her one as they walked up the stairs.   
"Ready?"  
She took a breath and nodded, holding the glass in her hand.   
"Ladies and gentleman please, may I have your attention."   
The music stopped and they all turned around.   
"Good evening. Let me make this very important announcement, you all have had the chance and the privilege to be enchanted, transported and even sometimes devastated by the performances of this true artist of our company. She's been a crucial inspiration to my work, a role model to all dancers and even more than that, a deeply appreciated presence on our stage. You all know who I'm talking about, ladies and gentlemen, Sabrina Larsen."   
He gestured to the older brunette in the crowd, they all clapped for her as she rose her glass and smiled.   
"But as we all know, every great career has to come to an end. Sabrina is retiring this season.  
Sabrina you are a queen of the stage, we honour you, you will be greatly missed and never forgotten."  
She blew a kiss up at him.   
"But as we bid adieu to one star, we welcome another, we are opening our season with Manon. Taking the role of the Manon, the beautiful Kristine Svendsen."

________________________________

There was an hour before the show was too open. The costume department were putting a few finishing touches on her blue dress. It had to be tailored to her measurements, especially in the bust, they added support and straps underneath like a bra to keep them in place as she danced. All of her costumes had to be tailored that way. She could have flattened them but the director didn't want her to cause herself any discomfort for the role. 

It was a surreal experience playing the lead, having all eyes on her at all times, watching her every move as she told the story through the movements of her body. As she danced she recalled her first ever role. They were opening the season with Swan Lake and she was cast as one of the little swans, she remembered how surprisingly difficult the choreography was for such a simple looking piece, especially when your in the middle. Not only did you have to stay in time and synchronized, you had to avoid tripping over each other, while holding hands the entire time.

At the end Kristine ran back on stage. She was showered with dozens of flowers, irises, carnations, roses and lilies. A man came on stage and presented her with a bouquet held together by a faux diamond bracelet.   
Kristine took them in her hands and bowed deeply, reveling in the applause. She stood tall and blew a kiss towards the tiers and the boxes before walking off the stage.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Kristine walked into the dressing room, searching for Janelle, the tall brunette wasn't hard to miss.   
"So," Janelle started. "Now that Manon is finished, what do you think will be next?"  
"Well, it could be anything really. Who knows what our director has under his sleeves, but if I had to guess; Giselle or perhaps Swan Lake." Kristine said, sitting down.   
After she was ready she made her way into the separate classroom, after the final showing of Manon she wad moved up, a principal dancer now, she only wished Janelle moved on with her.   
She stretched along with everyone else and stood up straight when their mistress came in, clapping her hands.   
"Good morning everyone. Are we all stretched and ready?"  
There were many nods and sounds of confirmation.  
"Good, now we're going to start in the first position."  
Kristine situated herself in front of another dancer.   
"And we start pointing front, open second, return front and second, flex the foot. Stretch the foot and two in first. Bum babum, flex and first. Ready? Two times."   
When they started, the mistress went around, "now your supporting side is also working, second, front, and second, flex. Good and point. Beautiful Kristine. One more time, and front and second, flex the foot, and front, careful Anna. And flex and second, and front and stop. Wonderful, now lets get into fifth." 

Later their director came in.   
"We all know the story of Giselle, yes? About a peasant girl who dies of a broken heart after discovering her lover is betrothed to another."   
He taps dancers on their shoulders. "The Wilis, a group of supernatural women who dance men to death, summon Giselle from her grave. They target her lover for death, but Giselle's great love frees him from their grasp."   
He claps his hands and the piano stops. "All the people I have tapped, go to your scheduled rehearsals, those I did not, met me in the studio at 3:00." 

 

Kristine sat on the floor doing a few quick stretches waiting for the director to come in.  
The door opened and he stepped through.   
"Kristine my darling, come here."   
She stood up and walked over.   
"I can see you as Giselle already from looks alone. But what I need to see is the personality. We're going to start with the pas de deux from act two. Are you familiar?"  
"Yes."  
"Good, erm, Stephen, will you join her please?"  
A tall man with blond hair got up and stood next to her.   
The director turned on the stereo.   
Kristine took a moment to crack her joints before he pressed play on his remote.   
She kept every movement soft, gentle and forlorn, taking extra care to make it show on her face. Stephen was an amazing partner, he worked with her and not against her like so many others did in the past. She could tell that the role was hers, in some way. At the end she opened her eyes after having kept them closed. The director clapped and she smiled satisfied with her performance.   
"I have one word for you Kristine; ethereal, well done, well done my darling." 

________________________________

She flew to home for the holidays she missed her parents and Freyja. They were celebrating on the farm this year which she was most looking forward too. Her sister also said she would be there with her husband Fredrik. When the plane landed she rented a car for the week. The drive was peaceful, as always. A fresh layer of snow covered the ground as she drove.   
When she arrived she parked behind Elsa's car and walked up to the front door, kicking her boots on the wall before she entered. Her mother stopped what she was doing and rushed over with her arms open.   
"Kristine, elskling."   
"Hi mamma," they hugged and she unzipped her jacket, hanging it up in the back.   
"Where are the bags?"  
"Still in the car, I'll get them later."   
"And how is Oslo? Are you fairing alright? We're sorry about not being able to fly out to see you dance."   
"Mamma, its fine. Oslo is wonderful, I'm alright. And I don't expect you to fly out every time."   
"Is that Kristine I hear?" Elsa asked, coming around the corner, coming in for a hug.   
"How are you?"  
"I'm great and you, Elsa you're practically glowing. Fredrik is treating you well is he?"  
"Yes, very well."   
"Good, if not I'll have to kick his ass. Speaking of my brother-in-law, where is he?"  
"In the den with pappa and Rollo."   
"So, when are you two going to have kids?"  
"Kristine."  
"What? I want to be an aunt before I hit thirty! That way I have more time to be cool before I get old."   
Her mother and sister laughed.  
"God, you haven't changed at all."   
Kristine stuck her tongue out at Elsa and walked over to the fridge, taking a bottle of beer out from the bottom. She rummaged through the drawer for a bottle opener and found one.   
Taking a drink she looked at Elsa, "you want one?"  
"No thank you."   
Kristine shrugged, "I'm going to go see what the boys are up too."  
She opened the door and walked down the stairs. The three of them were sitting on the couch, watching cross country skiing on the tv.   
Kristine stepped onto the couch and sat down in between Rollo and her father.   
"Kristine? When did you get here?"  
"Uh, about ten minutes ago."   
"How's the city?"  
"Busy, loud, wonderful." She moved back to look at Fredrik. "Hey Fred, how goes it?"  
"Um, it goes good Kristine."   
"Good."   
"How's the dancing? Anything big or special happen?"   
"Well, I'm a principal dancer now."   
Her father looked at her surprised, "a principal dancer? Wow! That's great Kristine! Erm, what is that again?"   
She laughed. "A principal dancer is the highest rank within a company. I'm finally dancing at the top."   
"That's fantastic!" He gave her a side hug, "I'm proud of you."  
"Thank you pappa."

 

After dinner they were all gathered in the living room, presents had already been opened, well almost all of them. Elsa had one more for each of them. Little blue boxes.   
"What's this?" Her mother asked.   
Elsa could barely contain her excitement. "Open them!"   
Kristine carefully opened hers. She looked at the brown box and opened the lid. Inside was a white t-shirt. They all had shirts. Unfolding hers she nearly screamed. "No!"  
"Yes!"   
The rest of them unfolded the fabric in their boxes.   
"Are you serious, Elsa?"   
"We're having a baby!"   
Kristine jumped up from her spot and hugged her sister. "Congratulations, I had a hunch when you turned down the beer."   
Elsa chuckled.   
"Do we know the gender yet?"   
"No, not yet."   
Kristine hummed, "I bet its a boy."   
"Well I bet its a girl."   
"You want to make a wager?"   
"Girls," her father said, chuckling. "There shall be no bets placed upon my grandchild." 

________________________________

Anne found Kristine standing on the balcony, having a moment to herself a she looked up at the stars.   
"Hey, we're about to light fireworks. Its your favourite part of New Years." Her mother said, joining her on the balcony.   
Kristine smiled a little and rubbed her hands together.   
"What's on your mind?"   
"Mamma, I've been thinking that...I've decided that I should move back to London." She turned to look at her. "I just feel like I've left something important behind."  
"You mean someone important. You miss him still? Even after all these years apart?"   
Kristine laughed, "yes, even after all these years. Don't take this as thinking I don't love it here, because I do. I love my country but..."  
"You love him too, I understand. I always thought you came back different when we left. Listen, if you want to go then go. But you have to visit us."  
"Oh of course, definitely. I mean I have a nephew on the way, I cant just totally disappear." She said playfully, making her mother smile.   
"I wonder how much he's changed..." she whispered, looking up at the sky. 

________________________________

In the morgue at St. Bartholomew's hospital, Sherlock unzips the body bag lying on the table and peers at the corpse inside. He sniffs.   
"How fresh?" He asks Molly.   
"Just in. Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice."   
Zipping up the bag, Sherlock straightens, turns to her and smiles falsely.  
"Fine. We’ll start with the riding crop."


	12. Chapter Twelve

"Flight 216, British Airways flight to London from Oslo, now boarding."  
Kristine stood up and stood in line, she handed the attendant her passport and boarding pass.  
"One way? Moving are we?"  
"Yes."  
The woman handed it back and Kristine went on her way. 

Sitting by the window she looked outside, watching men in bright orange vests run around. Pulling down the shutter she got comfortable. An older woman sat next to her with a man beside her.  
They looked at each other awkwardly and Kristine shifted in her seat.  
When the plane was clear for take off the woman turned her.  
"Is this your first time?" She asked.  
"No, I've been on a plane before, yourself?"  
"I'm coming back from a trip with my husband in Oslo. Are you a native?"  
"Of the city? No, but I am Norwegian yes."  
"How long are you staying in London?"  
"I'm moving there actually."  
"Why would you want to move from Norway to England?"  
Kristine smiled at her, "personal reasons."  
Taking out her phone she put in the headphones and distracted herself with Bach and closed her eyes.  
When she opened her eyes they had landed. Reaching into the overhead compartment she grabbed her duffle bag. The stewardesses smiled at her, "welcome to London."  
"Thank you." 

________________________________

One morning, after a particularly draining case, Sherlock, wearing a dressing gown over his shirt and trousers, is sitting at the dining table while John sits opposite him. Sherlock is looking at the front page of the Sunday Express, where the headline reads, "Who wants to be a million-hair." He folds the paper in half, puts it down and picks up another newspaper.  
"Over a thousand years old and it's sitting on her bedside table every night."  
"He didn't know its value; didn't know why they were chasing him."  
"Hmm. Should've just got her a lucky cat."  
Sherlock smiles at him briefly, then looks away.  
"Hmm."  
His gaze becomes distant. John looks at him closely.  
"You mind, don't you?"  
"What?"  
"That she escaped – General Shan. It's not enough that we got her two henchmen."  
"It must be a vast network, John; thousands of operatives. You and I, we barely scratched the surface."  
"You cracked the code, though, Sherlock; and maybe Dimmock can track down all of them now that he knows it."  
"No. No. I cracked this code; all the smugglers have to do is pick up another book."  
He opens his newspaper and lifts it, beginning to read. John's eyes drift over to the window, and he frowns and looks closely as a young man in a hooded jacket and wearing a cap walks over to a tall black box on the other side of the road which dispenses parking permits. Putting a bag on the ground, the young man looks around in all directions to make sure he's not being watched, then lifts a spray can in his right hand and sprays his tag on the back of the box. John watches while the 'artist' finishes the tag, picks up his bag and hurries away. As Sherlock, oblivious to this, continues to read his paper, John looks thoughtful, and a police car sirens its way down the road.  
Turning back to Sherlock he asks something he's been meaning to ask for a while. "I've been meaning to ask you something."  
"Oh?"  
"Who's the girl?"  
"What girl?"  
"In the photograph in your bedroom, the pretty one with light blonde hair. That girl."  
Sherlock looks away from John, his face expressed the desire to not talk about her. John noticed the slight quiver of his chin as he tried to keep his breathing steady.  
"Sherlock?"  
"Kristine," Sherlock said bluntly, walking out of the living room, he shut the bedroom door. John rubbed his face and looked out the window again.  
Mrs. Hudson knocked on the doorframe. "Ooo-ooo." She walked into the flat, carrying a bag of shopping.  
"Mrs. Hudson?"  
"Yes?"  
"Do you anybody named Kristine?"  
She thought about it for a second, "oh I think Sherlock has mentioned her a couple times."  
His bedroom door swung open, Sherlock came out of his room and stomped towards the living room. "She was a friend of mine many years ago. End of discussion. Goodbye, the end." He said firmly, buttoning up his blazer.  
"Why don't you want to talk about her?"  
"I..." Sherlock had to turn away from him to avoid exploding into a fit of irrational rage. "I just don't want too. Now drop the idea of Kristine. She's never coming back." Sherlock grabbed his gloves, scarf and coat.  
"Where are you going?"  
"Out." He left the flat, Mrs. Hudson jumped at the slamming of the door. From the window John saw him get into a cab and drive away. 

________________________________

Kristine sat in her flat, playing the cello in the middle of the floor. She had a nice little spot on Baker Street beside a place called Speedy's. She's been in London for the past couple weeks now. She heard a neighbour of hers talking about a blog, she wasn't interested at first until Sherlock's name was spoken. She asked her neighbour the name of the blog and searched it the other night. Upon reading it she smiled to herself and a laugh, "so, you went with the detective gig, after all." She had whispered to herself. This was also the moment she figured out they lived beside each other, just like they used too as teenagers.  
She had entertained the idea of stopping by to say hello, but something was holding her back. Did he remember her? Did he came still care? Did he hate her for leaving? So many questions and no answers. Sighing she cut the song short with an unpleasant screech of the strings and put the cello back on its stand. Walking into the kitchen she opened the fridge and looked around, there was absolutely nothing to eat. Well that was an exaggeration, there was food but there was nothing she wanted specifically.  
Grabbing her coat and purse she left the flat and went to hail a cab to the grocery store.  
A cab drove past her, there was already someone inside, a man with curly hair. Fortunately another one was behind him and it was empty. The cabbie pulled up to the curb. 

A few moments earlier Sherlock's cab turned onto Baker Street, he saw a woman with light blonde hair with her arm outstretched, clearly trying to get a cab. Sherlock did double take, the woman looked so familiar to him.  
"Stop! Stop here please!"  
His cab pulled up and he paid the man while getting out.  
By the time he started to walk towards her she had already gotten in the cab. She looked so familiar, he had to have known her at some point. But who was she?  
When he entered the flat John looked up from his laptop.  
"Sherlock? Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."  
"Hmm? Yeah, yeah I'm fine." He took off his coat and scarf on the way to his bedroom.  
Opening his wardrobe he took out a box, a keepsake chest of sorts. Everything he thought of sentimental value he kept in here, a secret to everyone around him. There wasn't much in there, but there was enough. A framed photograph of him and Kristine at her cousins wedding. Music they wrote together and Bo.  
Kristine forgot him when she left, he found it under her old bed. He held it in his hands and sat on his bed, staring down at the old moose. John knocked on the door, "Sherlock?" When there wasn't an answer he opened the door. "Sherlock we have a...what is that?" John saw the moose in his hands, his expression was amused as he stood there with a giant grin. "Is that yours?"  
"Don't be ridiculous John, its not mine." Sherlock said, he was quick to put both the moose and the box back in his wardrobe and stand up tall, straightening his jacket. He left the bedroom, dragging John into the living room. 

________________________________

John got out of a cab holding grocery bags. In the set of flats next door a woman came out of the door. She was short and very beautiful with blonde hair. She had it up in a tight bun and there was a duffle bag strewn over her shoulder.  
"Could you hold that cab please?" She asked John. John turned towards the cabbie and whispered something.  
Kristine jogged the few steps and smiled at John.  
"Thank you, I seem to be running late, I'd shake your hand but they seem to be full."  
"Your not from around here are you?"  
"Hmm?"  
"Your accent, its different."  
Kristine chuckled and flattened her hair. "Sorry, I'm Kristine, I moved her a couple weeks ago from Oslo."  
"Oslo, wow. And where are you off too?"  
"The Royal Opera house. I'm part of the ballet company." She took a deep breath and smiled at him, "anyway I've got to run, its nice to meet you John."  
She got into the cab and it drove away. 

Struggling with the keys he managed to get inside and upstairs, dropping the bags on the kitchen table.  
Sherlock was sitting in his chair, reading a book.  
"Who were you talking too? Downstairs, I could hear you talking to somebody."  
"Oh umm, a neighbour from next door."  
"What did she look like?"  
"Um, she was short, beautiful with light blonde hair and her eyes were a mixture of green and blue...why? Are you interested?" Sherlock got up from his chair with a bit of dramatic flair and was standing in a fluid movement, was standing in front of John.  
"Did she give you a name?"  
"Kristine I think she said."  
Sherlock backed up, John stared at him. A dozen different emotions flashed across his face. Finally he was lift with disbelief and bewilderment. "It can't be..." he whispered to himself. That memory that had caused him enough pain flashed across his eyes.

Kristine raised her arms and he bent down to hug her, lifting her off the ground.  
"Jeg ønsker ikke å miste deg," he whispered, "jeg vil ikke at du skal gå."  
Kristine shut her eyes tightly, a few tears spilled onto her shoulder. Eventually he had to let her go and put her on the ground, she wiped her eyes, "Jeg vil ikke gå."  
"I know."  
"Jeg kommer til å savne deg."  
"I know."  
She took a step closer to him, "can you do something for me?"  
"Anything."  
"Kyss meg?"  
Smiling ever so slightly he cupped her face, fully aware of the watching eyes of their parents. He captured her lips with his. It was slow and sad, he didn't want to let her go, he had no one else. But they had to break away.  
"Fremtiden er åpen," she whispered. "Kanskje vi vil se hverandre igjen."  
"Jeg ser frem til det." 

The day she left had haunted him for years. He held onto the belief that one day she would come back and things would make sense again. But she never did come back and over the years he began to loose hope, loosing faith in her.  
John stared at his flatmate, he appeared to be frozen, staring blankly in John's direction but not actually looking at him. John taps his foot patiently.  
"Sherlock?"  
He doesn't react to his voice. It drags on for a long while.  
"Okay...Thats beginning to become terrifying now, could you stop that?"  
Slowly Sherlock begins to return to reality.  
"It cant be..." he whispered.  
"Hmm? Can't be what?"  
"She moved," he turned away from John. "She moved away."  
"Who moved away, Sherlock?"  
"But that doesn't make any sense? Why come back now? Why come back almost thirteen years later?"  
"Who, Sherlock?"  
"Kristine..."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

She took a deep breath, staring at the brass numbers on the door. Taking a deep breath she rung the doorbell and waited. The door opened and behind it was an older woman with short hair.  
"Hello?"  
"Um, hello, I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes."  
"Client?"  
Kristine shook her head with a grin, tucking hair behind her ear. "No, more like old friend."  
Mrs. Hudson opened the door up wider and Kristine walked inside. "Just upstairs dearie."  
"Thank you."  
Kristine took her time walking up the stairs, trying to figure out what to say.  
The front door and kitchen door were open, giving her a clear view of his flat.  
She took a deep breath.  
"Jeg ser at du har vært opptatt." She said, in the doorway, "Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective? Did you come up with that yourself?"  
Sherlock looked up from his laptop, or rather it was John's. John was sitting in his chair, reading the paper.  
"You're back."  
"Yes I am."  
Sherlock got up from the table and went over to the woman. "What took you so long?" He whispered.  
"I don't know. Are you going to hug me or not?" She asked, softly. Sherlock glanced back at John who was unsuccessfully trying to make it look like he wasn't paying attention.  
"Privately?"  
"No."  
Sighing with a bit of dramatic flare he bent down a bit to hug her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him closer, smiling a little when he tightened his arms around her, he ended up picking her up off he ground, keeping her close. She still smelled the same, after all these years. It was comfort and and it was home at the same time.  
John stared at them, the Sherlock he was looking at was a completely new Sherlock, he appeared tender towards this woman. Perhaps what was between them wasn't exactly friendship as Sherlock was describing. Eventually he let her go and backed away.  
"I won't bother introducing you both since you already met."  
"Ah, John right?"  
"Yes thats right."  
"I forgot to tell you, I came across your blog a while ago, I wasn't sure if you were the same John."  
"Oh for Gods sake."  
"What?"  
"You read his blog?"  
"Yes...I read his blog, I heard a couple neighbours talking about you and I just...I was curious to see what you've been up too."  
"I've been fine."  
She smiled painfully at the sharpness of his tone. It was cold, he's never taken a cold tone with her, ever. John saw the shift in her expression and gestured to Sherlock's chair.  
"Would you like to sit down?"  
"Please."  
They all sat down.  
"So, how did you two meet?"  
"Thats a long story." She shifted slightly, crossing her legs. "I moved here when I was fourteen, my pappa got a job here in the city. It was recently after we settled in. Sherlock saw me sitting in the garden and approached me. He seemed to know everything about me in a flash of a second and immediate I was taken with him. I thought he was incredible. We started hanging out after that but after a year my pappa's job didn't work out so we had to...move back. Um, I've spent the better part of about 13 years finishing my studies and joining the company in Oslo. Now I live here and I'm with the Royal Ballet." She ran her fingers through her hair. "Did I ever tell you that Sherlock likes to dance?"  
John chuckled, "Sherlock? Dancing? Your kidding?"  
"I'm not, he dances a pretty mean waltz." She looked at Sherlock and winked, he only looked away from her.  
"So tell me more about yourself, what are your interests? Besides dance."  
"Uh well, I play the cello regularly. Sherlock and I used to play together regularly. I'm a bit of a mythology buff, I horseback ride. Growing up I loved to explore, bot so much now as an adult but um..." she chuckled. "I love the outdoors, camping and the like."  
"What was Sherlock like as a teenager? Relatively the same I imagine."  
Kristine shrugged, "He was...um...caring towards me, I could tell he cared and he didn't try to hide it. But now I feel like things have changed." She looked at Sherlock with disappointment in her eyes and stood up from the chair. "Well I think I should go now."  
"I'll see you out." Sherlock said and walked her downstairs.  
"I need an honest answer from you...why did you take so long to come back?"  
"I told you why?"  
"No you were lying, I know the signs when you lie, Kristine. You blink rapidly when you do."  
She sighed, "I took as long as I did because I thought you had forgotten me."  
"Forget you? How could I forget you?"  
"You forget other things. You told me once that your brain is like a hard drive. That it only makes sense to put things in that are useful. Remember when you forgot how make tea because you didn't find it as important as the effect of common household cleaners on red blood cells."  
Sherlock grinned at her, "you remember that?"  
"Of course I do, I remember a lot. I also remember the solar system."  
Sherlock frowned.  
"But then again why should you care if we go around the sun or not?" Sighing she looked at her watch, "I should probably get going, but I'm not leaving until I get another hug."  
"You already got one."  
"Yes well I would like another. The Sherlock I know wouldn't refuse to hug me again."  
"I have a reputation now, Kristine..."  
"Yes I know, we wouldn't want anyone to know that Sherlock Holmes has a heart and uses it on occasion."  
Sherlock's eyes softened as he looked down at her. "I've been told I don't have one."  
"You and I know that's not true. Du har vist meg det hjertet en gang." She whispered.  
"Det var lenge siden." He whispered. "Vi var barn, ting har endret seg."  
"Jeg tror ikke de har." Kristine whispered, finally noticing that his hand was spread against her lower back. She stepped up on her toes and pulled him into a hug. Letting go she opened the door, "I'll talk to you later." 

"Did something happen between you two?" John asked when Sherlock came back upstairs.  
"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock said, walking to the window, he watched her hail down a cab and disappear somewhere.  
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, "we just kissed a couple times."  
"Wait...what? Really? You and her...you two...and when were you going to tell me you spoke Norwegian? And that your dance? What else are you hiding? How well does she know you?"  
"Better than most people. She knows everything about me."  
"Everything?"  
"Yes John, everything."  
"Do you love her?"  
Sherlock turned around at the sudden, ridiculous question, "what?"  
"Do you love her? You talk about her as if you feel strongly for her."  
"Don't be ridiculous John, I don't...love."

________________________________

"Okay so we'll need to take up the bust on your Lilac Fairy costume, its a little snug, which is a common issue we have with our bustier girls." Marie, the costume manager said to her during her first fitting. They were putting on Sleeping Beauty in a few weeks. Kristine was not their first pick for The Lilac Fairy. Originally they had cast another dancer who had to bow out because of health issues.  
When the production was first announced they had thought of casting Kristine as the Aurora mostly because of her repertoire from when she danced in Oslo as she played romantic leads before with Manon and Giselle. Kristine can feel the pressure already, even though they've essentially just begun. The Lilac Fairy is such an important character and if she sinks, the whole production goes with her. With the tailoring of the costume, she fit in it perfectly fine everywhere but the bust where it was too tight. Back in Norway there were other girls who looked like her so costumes were altered all the time. But coming back to London there were many girls who fit what the ideal ballerina body was. But she didn't care much about it anymore, she really stopped putting so much pressure on herself when she started professionally. Instead she focused more on her technique and how she danced. Kristine found it silly, how big of a deal she made it out to be.  
"I used to think it was such a big deal when I was first starting you know. All of the other girls were picturesque and I wasn't."  
"Some of the girls that come through here just look so unhealthy, sometimes its refreshing to see someone with a normal body on stage, especially one as graceful as you dear."  
Kristine smiled, "thank you." 

 

She was alone in the principal studio, where she was working on the variation during the prologue. During the prologue her character arrives with her fairies to give the princess their gifts. But before she could give hers, Carabosse arrives, furious about not receiving an invitation places a curse upon the baby. Her character intervenes, not having enough power to undo the curse, she alters it. Instead Aurora will fall into a hundred year sleep and will be awakened with a kiss from a prince.  
The first time Kristine had done Sleeping Beauty she was one of the other fairies, the gold one if she can recall. And more recently she played Princess Florine last year. 

Her phone started ringing by her duffle bag. She stopped what she was doing and walked over, snatching the iPhone she slid accept and held it up to her ear.  
"Hello?"  
"Why do you sound out of breath?"  
"Who is this? Sherlock?"  
"The very same."  
"How did you get my phone number?"  
"I got it from Mrs. Turner, your landlady."  
"Oh, well to answer your question I'm out of breath because I was dancing."  
"Kristine, I need you to assist me with a case." "Sherlock I'm busy." "Please." He whispered through the phone. She sighed, "fine, fine."  
"How soon can you get to Bart's?"  
"Bart's? I don't know what that is."  
"St. Bartholomew's Hospital."  
"Oh, um, I guess half an hour?"  
"Great, see you." He hung up.  
Inhaling deeply she took her hair out of her bun and exhaled. Sitting down on the ground she takes off her pointe shoes and puts on socks before standing and slipping off her leg warmers and grabbing her joggers. Zipping a hoodie up over her leotard she shoves everything into her duffle bag and picked up her shoes, heading to the door.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

She walked quickly down the hallway, bumping into a man in a white t-shirt with his bright green breeches popping up over his pants.  
"Oh I'm sorry!" He says, arms extended trying to steady her.  
"No its my fault, I wasn't looking where I was going."  
"Um, Jim." He held out his hand for her to shake.  
"Kristine."  
"Its nice to meet you Kristine."  
"You too."  
"Well I've got to get to work now, so I'll um." He pointed behind him towards the elevator with an awkward chuckle. 

 

Kristine walked through the doors of the lab.  
"Sherlock, Jeg var midt i noe."  
"I needed a second opinion."  
She quickly noticed the others in the room. "Hi John."  
"Kristine, sorry to drag you down here."  
"Its okay."  
"So who's this?" Kristine asked, referring to Molly.  
"Kristine meet Molly Hooper. Molly this is my dear friend Kristine Svendsen."  
Kristine moved to shake her hand. "Its nice to meet you."  
"You too...so how do you know Sherlock? He's never mentioned you..."  
Kristine smiled and fluffed her hair. "We were teenagers together, well, for a little while at least until I had to move back home."  
"Sweden?" Molly guessed, a little unsure.  
"Norway," Sherlock and Kristine corrected her simultaneously.  
Molly gave a small "oh."  
Kristine took a deep breath and smiled at the other woman before her eyes focused on the sneakers. She narrowed her eyes and pointed at them, "shoes?"  
"Kristine look at them and tell me what you see."  
She walked around the table, "that's what you asked me to come down here for? To look at a pair of old shoes?"  
"Yes."  
"But you have John here, why do you need me?"  
"I'll always need you," he whispers to himself, hardly audible to Kristine's ears but John heard him.  
"What?"  
"Nothing erm, because I need your eyes. And you know what I do, so go on we're on a time limit."  
Sighing she picked up one of the shoes and stared at it.  
"Well these are obviously quite old, they appear to look new but whoever had them couldn't exactly bring them back to their original quality even though they tried very hard, um, they're large so either a mans shoe or a very tall boy. I'm leaning more towards boy because there appears to be marker on the inside of the shoe and no adults I know writes their name in their shoes. Whoever had these loved them, scrubbed them clean, changed the laces a few times, maybe four, five? I don't know. I can see what looks like dead skin on the laces, if he had dead skin on his fingers than he probably had eczema, I have a cousin with eczema. Anyway, oh."  
"What?"  
"Well whoever had these had weak arches. They're well worn on the inside compared to the outside. But I can't tell who made these and when."  
John looked over at Sherlock as he stared at Kristine adoringly when she finished her look at the shoes.  
"Did I do good?"  
"You did very good, my Kristine."  
Kristine smiled and handed him the shoe.  
"The shoes are British-made, twenty years old."  
"Twenty years?"  
Sherlock brings up his phone and shows John a picture. "Limited edition: two blue stripes, nineteen eighty-nine."  
"Have these been worn recently?"  
"No, why?"  
"Because they've still got mud on them."  
"Its from Sussex, but theres mud from London overlaying."  
"How do you know?"  
Sherlock nods towards the computer screen.  
"Pollen. Clear as a map reference to me."  
Two dots are flashing on a map of Britain, one around the borders of East and West Sussex and the other to the south-east of London.  
"South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind."  
"So what happened to him?" John asked.  
"Something bad."  
He looks up at them. "He loved those shoes, remember. He'd never leave them filthy. Wouldn't leave them go unless he had to. So: a child with big feet gets..."  
He trails off, staring ahead of himself.  
"Oh."  
John looks across the lab, trying to see what his friend is looking at.  
"What?"  
"Carl Powers."  
"Sorry, who?"  
"Oh...you've told me about this."  
"Carl Powers, John."  
"What is it?"  
"Its where I began." In a flash Sherlock had cleaned up and gathered what he needed including the shoes in the bag. John watched as he grabbed Kristine's hand and left the lab.  
"Come on John." 

In the back of a cab, Kristine is siting in between Sherlock and the window.  
"Nineteen eighty-nine, a young kid – champion swimmer – came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. Tragic accident."  
He shows John the front page of a newspaper on his phone.  
"You wouldn't remember it. Why should you?"  
"But you remember."  
"Yes."  
"Something fishy about it?"  
"Nobody thought so – nobody except me. I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers." "Started young, didn't you?"  
"The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out it was too late. But there was something wrong; something I couldn't get out of my head."  
"What?"  
"His shoes."  
"What about them?"  
"They weren't there. I made a fuss; I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important. He'd left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes..." He leans down and picks up a bag containing the trainers. "Until now."  
"So you've dragged me from my work to join you on this case of yours."  
"Yes."  
"You don't sound surprised." John said, bending forward so he could see her, she was staring out the window, smiling. "I rarely ever am, not when it comes to Sherlock at least." 

 

Sherlock has shut himself in the kitchen and is sitting at the table with the trainers nearby – still in the bag – while he looks through photographs and printouts of newspaper reports of Carl Powers' death from 1989. Kristine is currently climbing up onto the counter to reach a bowl, much to Sherlock's amusement.  
In the living room, on the other side of the closed doors, John is pacing back and forth. He stops and slides open one of the doors.  
"Can I help?" He notices Kristine on the counter and blinks a few times, she moved to show him the bowl she was trying to reach and he nods with a little smile of his own. He turns back to Sherlock  
"I want to help. There's only five hours left."  
His phone sounds a text alert. He gets the phone from his trouser pocket and looks at the message.  
"It's your brother. He's texting me now."  
He frowns. "How does he know my number?"  
"Must be a root canal." Sherlock says thoughtfully.  
John puts his phone away and comes into the kitchen. "Look, he did say 'national importance.'"  
Sherlock snorts, not looking up from his research.  
"How quaint."  
"What is?"  
"You are. Queen and country."  
"You can't just ignore it."  
"I'm not ignoring it. Putting my best man onto it right now."  
"Right. Good."  
He folds his arms and nods in satisfaction, then looks at Sherlock in puzzlement.  
"Who's that?" 

When John left Kristine stepped onto the kitchen chair and sat on the table, eating a bowl of cereal.  
"So your on a time limit, you had twelve hours now you only have five. And you have to solve this case or a woman dies...do I have that right?"  
"Yes."  
"Huh...okay."  
"What?"  
"Nothing, I was just thinking that your life is way more interesting than mine. I mean I just dance on stage for a living but you get to go on adventures and solve crimes and catch bad guys."  
"How many years do you have until retirement?" Sherlock quipped, earning him a cheerio to the head.  
"35 or 40...are the main-ish ages that dancers retire."  
"Oh so, your not far off." That earned him a slight kick if her foot. "Your older than me you know."  
"By a year, darling."  
"A year is still a year." She said, drinking the rest of the milk from the bottom of the bowl. She looked at the empty ceramic and scrunched up her nose. "I always hated cheerios."  
"Then why did you eat them?"  
"Because I was hungry and there was nothing else."  
It was silent mostly while Sherlock worked, Kristine sat there, typing something on her iPhone when Sherlock came up with something else to say."  
"So...are you seeing anyone?"  
She looked up from the device in her hands, "by seeing anyone you mean am I dating anyone..." she took a deep breath in and sighed, "no, I am not. Truthfully I've never been in a...romantic relationship with anyone before."  
"You've never been with anyone?"  
She shrugged, "I guess I've just been too busy with my career I guess. But you know all about that."  
"How would you know if I was with someone or not? You've only just got back."  
"Sherlock, I know you, your not the romantic type."  
She reaches across the table and picks up one of the shoes, examining it. "So Carl Powers. When you told me about him you said he had a fit in the swimming pool?"  
"Yes," he said without looking up from a news paper clipping.  
"What's perplexing to me is, he was a champion swimmer. How would a perfectly good swimmer have a fit in the water and drown?"  
Sherlock looked up, a look of sudden realization crossed his features.  
"What?"  
"He was murdered."  
"Murdered? Are you sure?"  
"Yes. But how?"  
"But Sherlock if he was murdered wouldn't have been in the articles or on the official report?"  
"Kristine I want you to take apart the shoes."  
She blinked, "do what now?"  
"Take the shoes apart, carefully." 

________________________________

Sherlock has moved to the side table in the kitchen and is looking into his microscope. Kristine comes out of the bathroom, wiping her hands on the hand towel.  
Mrs. Hudson comes in through the kitchen door with a tray containing a couple of mugs. As she puts them on the kitchen table, Sherlock looks up.  
"Anything?"  
"Poison."  
"What you going on about?"  
Sherlock slams his hands down on the side table.  
"Clostridium botulinum!"  
Mrs. Hudson cringes and flees the kitchen. Sherlock looks round at John as he comes in from the living room.  
"It’s one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!"  
John looks at him blankly.  
"Carl Powers!"  
"Oh, wait, are you saying he was murdered?"  
Sherlock stands up and walks over to where he has hung up the laces from the trainers.  
"Remember the shoelaces?"  
"Mmm."  
"The boy suffered from eczema. It’d be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns."  
"What – how-how come the autopsy didn’t pick that up?"  
"It’s virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it."  
He has walked around the table to where his computer notebook is lying. The page is open at the Forum of his own website, The Science of Deduction and begins to type in the message box. He straightened up. "But there were still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers from where he put the cream on his feet."  
"That’s why they had to go."  
"So how do we let the bomber know..."  
"Get his attention..."  
"Mm-hm."  
Sherlock looks at his watch "...stop the clock."  
"The killer kept the shoes all these years."  
"Yes." He looks at John. "Meaning..."  
"He’s our bomber."  
The pink phone rings on the side table. Sherlock hurries over to it and switches on the speaker.  
"Well done, you. Come and get me."  
"Where are you? Tell us where you are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist coming soon


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Sherlock held his violin in his hands as he flipped through his compositions. But it was really an excuse to see Kristine leave her flat and get in a cab.   
"Why do you always get up to watch her when she leaves or comes home?" John asked. "You're friends, you can just pop by."   
"I'm well aware."   
"So why don't you?"   
Sherlock didn't answer him, he just stared out the window. He frowned, trying to keep his chin steady, looking down for a moment he looked back out.   
"Sherlock."   
"Because I'm busy."  
"What do you mean your busy? There hasn't been a case in about a week. You aren't busy. You were more than willing to let her help with the Carl Powers and the Connie Prince cases. And now you won't even go down and say hello. It doesn't make any sense."  
"I have my reasons."   
John looked at him exasperated, he shifted in his chair and crossed his leg.   
"During the Carl Powers case you said to her, "I'll always need you", and then you called her "my Kristine". What was all that about?"   
"Nothing, I don't recall any of that, John. You must have been hearing things." He said and started playing. It was from the box in his bedroom, a tune John hadn't heard before. The song itself was melancholic, full of longing. Sherlock had written it shortly after she had left. He's never played it until now.

________________________________

A knock on the door woke her up. Sighing she got out of bed and tossed her robe on. The knocking continued as she entered the living room, she opened the door. Sherlock and John were standing there, Sherlock clearly displeased and John looked apologetic. Kristine opened the door wider and stepped aside, letting the two men in her flat.   
"Sorry for barging in on you like this, we should have called."   
"No its fine, I wasn't doing much, just sleeping."   
"So I've noticed," Sherlock said bitterly, taking off his scarf. Kristine stepped closer to him and pulled his chin down, "what happened to your face?" She asked, looking at the cut on her cheek.   
"Its nothing, case."   
"Oh."   
John was over by the couch to the little table, under a fern was a photograph in a gold frame. John picked it up and looked at them amused.   
"Is that Sherlock? On a horse?"  
"Bjørn? Yeah, When I took him to Norway with me I taught him how to ride a horse."   
"That's something I'd like to see."   
"Well come with me the next time I bring him and you can see for yourself."  
"When are you planning on going back?"  
"After Christmas, if you want to go with me, Sherlock."   
He turned to face her. "Why?"  
"Well, its not like your going to go see your parents now is it? Besides...it could give us some time to catch up.   
Sherlock frowned, "fine, I'll go with you."   
"Good, now my mamma can stop bugging me about you." She started to make tea in the kitchen that was attached to her flat.   
"So tell me about the case, who is the client?"  
"Well we were taken to Buckingham Palace if that's any indication."   
"Ah, so important client."   
"Have you heard of a woman named Irene Adler?"  
"No, that name doesn't come to mind."   
"Well she has some...compromising photographs that we have to collect."  
"And then what happened?"  
"Well we managed to get inside her house where she was waiting for us...naked."  
"I'm sorry she was what?"  
"Naked, anyway..."  
John continues to tell her about the altercation at her residence and how she got away."   
"Did she..." She turned to Sherlock who looked away from her, an amused smile crossed her lips, "did she beat you?"  
A nod from John made her giggle.   
"Its not funny Kristine."  
"Its a little funny." She said, turning on the kettle.   
"So was she pretty?" She asked.   
"What?"  
Kristine began searching for biscuits, "was she pretty? The um, the woman?"   
"Is that a hint of jealousy I hear Kristine?" John asked.   
"No!" She snapped, almost too quickly, both of them looked at her and she laughed nervously, "no, I'm not...I'm just curious." She adverted the next part of the conversation by walking over to the stand where she kept her cello and started organizing her sheet music. 

 

"She's jealous," John concluded when they left the building. Sherlock hailed down a cab.   
"Jealous? Why would she be jealous?"   
"Perhaps because shes in love with you and you've just seen another woman naked."   
Sherlock opened the cab door and let John go inside first. "She's not in love with me."  
"She clearly is. I've seen her eyes when she looks at you."   
"And so what if Irene was naked? Why should that bother her?"  
John sighed deeply, "how can you be so smart but so..." he groaned, "never mind, forget it, but you ignoring Kristine's feelings and your own are only going to make it worse."  
"I'm not ignoring anything."   
"So you do love her?"   
Sherlock made a sour face, "I told you I don't love."  
"But you do love her."   
"Oh for Gods sake, drop the conversion and come up with something else to think about."   
"I'm sorry, is my concern for your happiness bothering you?"   
Sherlock didn't say anything else, he just stared out the window, delving deeply into his mind palace. The moment he did Kristine showed up, normally he'd be glad to see her in his head, but not now.   
"Go away," he told her, "I'm busy."   
She faded away.   
Sherlock opened his eyes and looked up at his flat, mind reeling back to her's.   
"Is she pretty? The um...the woman?" Now he could hear the disappointment in her tone, that little sprinkle of jealously. But what does she have to be jealous about? Its not like he cares for that woman at all, she only has something he needs. 

________________________________

Sherlock sat in his seat, next to John and Mrs. Hudson, whom she had also invited.   
"Isn't this exciting Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson gushed, "I haven't seen the Nutcracker since I was a little girl. Did she tell you who she's playing?"  
"Clara." Sherlock answered simply.   
"Oh lovely!"   
"You know I'm surprised Sherlock," John spoke, "I thought you wouldn't have agreed to this."   
"Of course I would, why wouldn't I?"   
"If Kristine wasn't in the ballet, you wouldn't be here."   
Sherlock didn't have a counter argument, John was right. If Kristine wasn't in the ballet, he would have refused to come. Applause erupted in the auditorium as the conductor made his way into the orchestra pit. He gave them all a little bow and the music began, it was just the overture, Sherlock rolled his eyes and slumped in his chair, resting his face in his hand.   
Suddenly the stage darkened and the curtain rose.   
Boredom was what he felt during the party scene, just a bunch of dancing, happy faces and no Kristine.   
He began to find it enjoyable during the scene between the Mouse King and the Nutcracker, even if she was still no where to be found. He even let out a chuckle when the young Clara threw her slipper at the King.   
And then the stage grew dark, Kristine took the place of the girl. John noticed the change in Sherlock when she was on stage, he sat up straight and he gave his full attention. John smiled and continued to watch.   
Sherlock watched her and only her, the way she moved, the way she danced. Everyone else was irrelevant to him, they didn't matter as she was truly the most graceful creature he'd ever gazed upon and the most beautiful in her white dress and light hair done up in ringlets, the fluidity of her movements enchanted him, captivated him completely. Suddenly he could feel his walls crumbling, the walls she set when she left. They were crumbling away to dust. For a moment Sherlock let his mind wander, he imagined himself up on stage in place of the prince. Dancing with her, holding her. He felt that annoying prickle of jealousy in his chest again, shifting in his seat he blinked slowly, disrupting his thoughts, giving Kristine his full attention once more.

________________________________

"You were incredible tonight, Kristine." John said, they were back at Sherlock's flat, gathered around the fireplace, John had a bottle of wine open and was pouring her a glass.   
Sherlock was sitting in his chair, face resting in his hand in his classic thinking position, as Kristine observed, it was either this or prayer hands.   
"What did you think, Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked, she was sitting on the couch, John had taken one of the dining chairs, giving Freya his. Sherlock didn't answer, he just remained still in his chair.    
"Sherlock," John called a little more sternly.   
He sighed and readjusted in his chair, "she was great, of course I never doubted her for a minute."   
Kristine smiled softly and looked down at the dark red contents of her glass.   
"How long have you been dancing for?"  
"Erm, I think since I was four years old. At first it was my mammas way of trying to get me to make friends. But after a few years I really began to fall in love with it and I just kept going and going and going. And now I'm a Principal."  
"Do you remember your first role at all or is that lost to the wind?"  
"Oh no, I remember it very well. I was scared stiff the entire time. The first role I've ever done, I was one of the four swans in Swan Lake. They put me in the middle and I just remembered being terrified throughout the entire dance because if I miss a step the whole thing goes under. But it really was a lot of fun and I'd love to dance the Swan Queen one day as does every other girl in the company. And it gets competitive, I've seen friendships torn apart during auditions because their ambitions are too high or one girl gets the role that the other wanted. And being the Swan Queen can be physically demanding. Your not just dancing one role, your dancing two both Odette and Odile, both of their personalities are very different and you have to show that and its quite a lot of work."   
"Have you been in the Nutcracker before?"  
"Yes, loads of times. I've been one of the snowflakes at the end of act one. There have been a few instances where I've been one of the flowers." She took a drink of her wine, "the last time I was in the Nutcracker I was the Sugar Plum Fairy and I remember that being just a surreal moment, she's just such a beloved character and it was really the highlight of my career. Until I was cast as Manon anyway."   
"What's been your favourite dance so far?" Mrs. Hudson asked, Kristine had to think.   
"Oh erm, I'm torn between the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy or the Giselle pas seul."   
She noticed Sherlock was staring at her from his chair.   
"What?"  
"Your still wearing your stage makeup."   
Kristine brought a hand to her face, a bit of glitter rubbed off onto her finger tips. She stared at it and rubbed her fingers together.   
"Thank you, Sherlock. I must've forgotten to take it off when I got changed."

Sherlock saw her to the door at the end of the night.   
"You were truly magnificent, Kristine." He whispered, not wanting John or Mrs. Hudson to hear him.   
"You think so?"  
"Always."   
She smiled up at him, "Thank you, I actually almost thought you weren't going to come you know."   
"Oh, I wouldn't miss it."   
"Well I should get going," she moved to open the door, "I'll see you tomorrow." She opened the door and turned back to him, "goodnight."   
"Goodnight."   
He watched her open the door on the other side of Speedy's and disappear.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

"A Christmas party?" Kristine questioned, "but you never have parties, you hate parties."   
"It was John's idea..." Sherlock said from his chair.   
"Ahhh, of course it was." She said with a smile while looking out the window, it had just started snowing. "Have you started packing yet?"   
"Yes, only the essentials and plenty of warm clothes, I remember the drill."  
"Good, we'll be staying at the farm again."   
The kettle started to scream on the stove, Kristine walked over it and started to make tea. "What's John doing for the holidays?"  
"He's going to see his sister Harriet."  
"Oh, I didn't know he had a sister."   
"So when do we leave?" Sherlock asked, avoiding that conversation.   
"The plane is for 11am, so we should leave at about nine. Then when we get to Bergen, we have rent a car."   
She handed him a cup of tea. "So who's coming tomorrow?"  
"Lestrade, Molly...actually you haven't met Lestrade yet."  
"No I haven't...is that all?"   
"John's bringing that girlfriend of his...who's name escapes me..."   
"Sarah?"  
"No, they broke up ages ago."   
"Oh...so...what did you get me for Christmas?"   
"I cant tell you that."   
"Why not?"  
Sherlock stood up from his chair, "its a surprise." He winked at her and retreated to his bedroom.   
Freya sighed and sat down in John's chair. 

________________________________

Kristine was sitting in Sherlocks chair, waiting for him to suck it up and come out and enjoy the party. Kristine was dressed, in her opinion a little risqué for the evening, a short tight sparkly gold skirt with matching close-toe heels with a bit of a platform and a cranberry sleeveless peplem shirt.   
"So, what's Christmas like in Norway?" Lestrade asked, trying to make conversion, he was the first to arrive, Sherlock was still in his room and John was out picking up his girlfriend.   
"Um, well...normally we celebrate on Christmas Eve, theres lots of food and usually we drink juleøl, which is a beer thats brewed for Christmas, its darker and got a bit of um...spice. We exchange presents after we eat. Oh! One thing I loved doing as a kid was having gingerbread house building competitions on the Twenty-third and the winner got to open the first present of the bunch. Christmas Day is really quiet and relaxed, and private and nothing really important happens, normally I visit home in late December and stay until mid January but I'm taking Sherlock this time so everything had to be pushed back a little this year and we won't be staying as long."   
Lestrade smiled, "I could honestly listen to you talk for hours, your accent is adorable."   
"Oh thank you, I think you Brits have adorable accents too."   
Sherlock opened his door and walked out into the living room.   
"Oh look! He has risen!"   
Sherlock glared at her playfully. He picked up his violin and began to tune it, "how about some music?"  
"Oh, that sounds wonderful Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson said, she arrived a few moments before he came out of his bedroom. She handed Kristine a glass of wine. Sherlock started to play.   
John came up the stairs with his girlfriend and introduced her to Kristine.   
Sherlock watched her as he played, her skirt hugged her legs and those heels didn't help either, she was exquisite, but of course he knew that, he always knew, but every time he looks at her it gets harder and harder to look away. Starting a new song he watched her socialize, he also watched Mrs. Hudson have glass after glass. 

Sherlock finishes a tune with a fancy flourish, Lestrade whistles in appreciation.   
"Lovely! Sherlock, that was lovely!" Mrs. Hudson says from his chair.   
"Marvellous!"   
Sherlock sketches a small bow to his audience. Mrs. Hudson, apparently a little bit squiffy, giggles up at him.  
"I wish you could have worn the antlers!"   
"Some things are best left to the imagination, Mrs. Hudson."   
Janette over a tray containing mince pies and slices of cake and offers it to Sherlock.  
"No thank you, Sarah."  
Her face falls. John hurries over to her and puts his arm around her as she turns away.  
"Uh, no, no, no, no, no. He's not good with names."   
"No-no-no, I can get this."   
Janette puts the tray down and straightens up, folding her arms and looking at Sherlock rather grimly.  
"No, Sarah was the doctor; and then there was the one with the spots; and then the one with the nose; and then ... who was after the boring teacher?"   
"Nobody."   
"Jeanette!" He grins falsely at her. "Ah, process of elimination."   
John awkwardly leads Jeanette away. Sherlock looks across to the door as a new arrival comes in.   
"Oh, dear Lord."   
Molly Hooper walks in, smiling shyly and carrying two bags which appear to be full of presents.  
"Hello, everyone. Sorry, hello."   
John walks over to greet her, smiling.   
"Er, it said on the door just to come up."   
Sherlock rolls his eyes from where he's standing. "Oh, everybody's saying hello to each other. How wonderful."   
Smiling at him nervously Molly starts to take her coat and scarf off.   
John gets ready to take her coat. "Let me, er...holy Mary!"   
Lestrade gawps in similar appreciation as Molly reveals that she's wearing a very attractive black dress.  
"Wow!"   
"Having a Christmas drinkies, then?" Molly says, smoothing her hands over the front of her dress.   
Sherlock sits down at the dining table. "No stopping them, apparently."   
"It's the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me, so it's almost worth it!" Mrs. Hudson says.   
Molly giggles nervously, her eyes still fixed on Sherlock as he starts typing on John's laptop. John brings a chair over for her.   
"Have a seat."   
"John?" Sherlock says.   
"Mmm?"   
He goes over to see what Sherlock is looking at. Lestrade touches Molly's arm to get her attention.  
"Molly?"   
She turns to him.   
"Want a drink?"   
As she accepts his offer, John leans over Sherlock's shoulder to look at the screen.  
Molly turns her attention back to Kristine.   
"Hello Kristine, its good to see you again."   
"You too, I love your dress."  
"Oh thank you! I um...I love your..." she breathed in sharply, "everything...wow."   
Kristine chuckled, "thank you."   
"So..any plans for the holidays?"   
"Sherlock and I are going to Norway tomorrow to visit my family."   
"Oh, you both are going?"  
"Yes, I know Sherlock comes off as a disinterested ass but he does enjoy going up north."   
Molly turns to Mrs Hudson. "How's the hip?"  
"Ooh, it's atrocious, but thanks for asking."   
"I've seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems." An awkward silence falls. Molly looks embarrassed.  
"Oh, God. Sorry."  
"Don't make jokes, Molly." Sherlock says from the table.  
"No. Sorry."  
Lestrade hands her a glass of red wine.  
"Thank you. I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas."   
"That's first thing in the morning, me and the wife. We're back together. It's all sorted."   
He grins at her.  
Without looking up from the laptop Sherlock mumbles. "No, she's sleeping with a P.E. teacher."   
Lestrade's smile becomes rather fixed. Molly turns to John who is sitting on the arm of his armchair. Jeanette is sitting in the chair itself.  
"And John. I hear you're off to your sister's, is that right?"   
"Yeah."   
"Sherlock was saying."   
Nearby, Lestrade has been running Sherlock's comment through his mind, and his face slowly becomes a picture of exasperation when he seems to realise that it's probably true.   
"First time ever, she's cleaned up her act. She's off the booze."   
"Nope."   
"Shut up, Sherlock." John snaps.   
"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him."   
"Sorry, what?"   
"In fact, you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift."   
"Take a day off." John says quietly.   
Lestrade took a glass across to the table and putting it down near Sherlock. "Shut up and have a drink."   
"Oh, come on. Surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag – perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best."   
He stands up and walks towards Molly, looking at the other presents which aren't so carefully wrapped.  
"It's for someone special, then."   
He picks up the well-wrapped present.  
"The shade of red echoes her lipstick – either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has looove on her mind. The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving him a gift at all."   
John looks anxiously at Molly as she squirms in front of Sherlock. John turns to Kristine who doesn't seem to be bothered by this at all, actually she's looking at Sherlock like this is perfectly normal behaviour.   
"That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn; and that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she's wearing."   
Smiling smugly across to John and Jeanette, he starts to turn over the gift tag attached to the present.  
"Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts..."  
He trails off as he looks down at the gift.   
Molly gasps quietly.  
"You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always."   
As she fights back tears, Sherlock turns to walk away, but then stops and turns back to her.   
"I am sorry. Forgive me."   
John looks up, startled and amazed at such a human reaction from his friend. Sherlock steps closer to Molly.  
"Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."   
He leans forward and gently kisses her on the cheek. Kristine tightens her grip on the wine glass in her hand and bites her tongue, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. She looks away from Sherlock and walks off towards Sherlock's bedroom.   
"Where are you going?" John asks as she sets the glass on the kitchen table.   
"I'm just going to check to see if we have everything." 

Sherlock walks into his bedroom, Kristine is standing over the bed, she has her suitcase open and is refolding everything. A shampoo bottle rolls away and she bends over to grab it, her shirt rolls up her thighs, revealing the bottom of her ass.  
Sherlock clears his throat, Kristine stops what shes doing and turns around. "Oh Sherlock, hi." She said, fixing her skirt. "Why aren't you with the rest of them?"  
"Why aren't you."   
She chuckles and picks up a burgundy turtleneck. "I just wanted to double check if I had everything. She picks up a light blue package, obviously a present for her baby nephew.   
Setting it aside she continues folding. Sherlock sits on the bed next to her case and begins unwrapping a red gift tied with black rope.  
"What's that?" She asked.   
"A gift."  
"Who's it from?"  
"Someone." He pulls out a camera phone.  
"You still haven't exchanged gifts yet."   
"Not now Kristine." Sherlock says, standing up.   
"Sherlock?"  
He leaves the room. 

 

"So, are you still going to your sisters?" Kristine asked John as they cleaned up.   
"Um, no."   
"Oh, well you shouldn't spend the holidays alone." She got an idea, "why don't you come with us?"  
"Where? To Norway?"   
"Yeah why not? It'll be fun."   
"But how will you get a ticket? Its late and I'm sure the plane is booked solid."   
Kristine smirked at him and grabbed her phone. She dialled a number and pressed it to her ear. John wondered who she was calling. When the person answered she put on a sweet voice.   
"Hi Mycroft! I'm calling to say Merry Christmas...and I need a favour." She walked off towards the bathroom.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Kristine sat up in bed and looked over at Sherlock, she climbed over him and grabbed her phone, taking it off the charger.  
"6am." She whispered, flopping back in bed with a sigh.  
Sherlock had insisted she share the bed with him, it was more comfortable than the couch anyhow. They kept their respective distances of course, well as far as they knew, they did. But who knows what happens in the middle of the night?  
Kristine lazily hit Sherlock on the shoulder with the back of her hand.  
"Sherlock."  
No response.  
"Sherlock." She said a little louder, again nothing. Sighing she sat up and placed her fingertips on his knee, knocking on it like you would to crack an egg she scratched her nails down his knee. Sherlock woke up with a scream. He turned to Kristine who was laughing her ass off in the space next to him. Sherlock glared at her and pushed her over, curling back up in bed.  
"C'mon, we gotta get up. We have to be ready by nine, because thats when the shuttle comes to take us to the airport." She said, giving his thigh a tap. He didn't move so she came up with a little compromise.  
"If you get up I'll make us breakfast."  
Sherlock opened an eye to peek at her, "pancakes?"  
"If you get up."  
Sherlock crawled out of bed and followed her into the kitchen. John looked away from his newspaper, turning to stare at them.  
"He's awake. He never gets up early."  
"I promised breakfast."  
"But Sherlock hardly eats breakfast."  
Kristine opened the fridge and took out milk and eggs.  
"He likes it when I cook." Kristine said, putting everything she needs on the kitchen table, due to there being no room on the counters. "I'm surprised he remembered that I do."  
"So what are you making?"  
"pannekaker."  
John stared at her with a blank expression.  
"Pancakes," she clarified. "Sherlock likes them."  
"We don't have maple syrup."  
"I know, he eats them with jam, right?"  
She asked, heating up the frying pan. Sherlock nodded and got up from the table and started making tea beside her. John smiled at them, they looked so domestic, homely. Kristine had thrown on his blue robe while he wore his crimson one. 

 

Around 9:00 the three of them were ready, Sherlock was dressed warmly and casual, not in his normal dress suit and shoes. He was wearing durable winter boots, jeans, with thermals underneath no doubt, a turtle neck and a wool sweater. Kristine and John were dressed similarly, she stretched up to put a hat on Sherlock's head.  
"Are you both wearing your thermals?"  
"Yes."  
"Good, we don't want you catching your death." She said, putting on her own hat.  
"How cold does it get up there."  
"Um, it depends on where you live, but its cold enough."  
Sherlock chuckled and grabbed his coat.  
Kristine zipped up her parka. A honk got her attention and she put on her gloves.  
"Okay, thats us."  
They said their goodbyes to Mrs. Hudson to let her know they were leaving before opening the door.  
"Oh, that reminds me," she said, handing her suitcases to the driver. "Did you remember your ice grips?"  
"Yes, I remembered."  
"Good," she smiled and got in the van. 

________________________________

Kristine parked the car outside the farmhouse, her uncle opened the door and stepped out. Kristine turned back to John, having forgotten to tell him how big her uncle was. His eyes were wide and John looked surprised by his size, "holy mother of..."  
"Uncle Rollo!"  
"Kristine!"  
He spotted Sherlock and shook his hand. "Sherlock."  
"Rollo."  
"Who's your friend?"  
"Oh uncle Rollo, this is John Watson, John, this is my uncle."  
"Oh its um, nice to meet you." John held his hand out for him to shake. Rollo gave him a pat on the shoulder and turned back to Kristine.  
"Hvordan var flyturen?"  
"It was comfortable, how's my baby?"  
"Freyja is fairing well. You should take her out for a ride."  
"I'd like that, perhaps I could give Sherlock another riding lesson."  
"That would be amusing to watch."  
Sherlock frowned behind them.  
"So when we get there I figured we could go hiking, just me, you, your father, Sherlock and your friend here if he wants to come."  
"What about Elsa?"  
"Elsa, Fredrik and Harry won't be joining us until tomorrow."  
"Oh really? I was hoping to see my nephew. Are my parents here at least?"  
"Yes, they're in the sitting room." 

Kristine took off her gloves and walked into the room, Sherlock and John not far behind her.  
"Wow," John commented, looking around the room, "your family doesn't mess around when it comes to Christmas, do they?"  
Every inch of the space was covered in some sort of Christmas decoration.  
"Not really no."  
Kristine's parents turned around, her father stood up, almost as tall as his brother.  
"Kristine, there you are." Gustav walked around the couch to greet her.  
John leaned towards Sherlock, "is everyone in her family tall?"  
"Most of them."  
"Most of them, okay."  
Gustav moved away from Kristine so her mother could hug and fuss over her. He held his hand out to Sherlock.  
"Sherlock, good to see you again after all these years."  
They shook hands.  
"What are you up to these days?"  
"Han er en detektiv, pappa."  
"En detektiv? Kristine told me you were more of a chemistry guy."  
"He has a degree in chemistry but he's not as passionate about it as he is with detective work."  
Gustav chuckled, "why don't you come sit down, have a drink?" He saw John and looked down. "Who's this?"  
"Oh pappa, this is John Watson. He's a friend of ours."  
"Kristine didn't want him to be alone during the holidays."  
Gustav nodded and shook John's hand, "the more the merrier, we'll just have to figure out a place for you to...Kristine?"  
Kristine smiled at him, "John can take Sherlock's room and we can share."  
"You and Sherlock? Sleeping in the same room?"  
"Ye...yes?"  
"Are you two together?" A look of joy spread across her mothers face.  
"No mamma-"  
"Jeg har alltid følt at dere begge var sjelevenner, har jeg ikke, Gustav?" She told her husband. Kristine laughed with embarrassment and looked sternly at her mother.  
"Mamma, we're not together, like that. And you read too many romance novels. Soulmates aren't a real thing you know."  
Anne shrugged, "a mother can dream, can she not? And besides Elsa is already married and has a child, and you've never had a boyfriend."  
"Ugh, mamma."  
"What? I'd just like to see you settled before I get too old."  
Kristine rolled her eyes, "Sherlock and I are going riding." She grabbed Sherlock by the hand and pulled him away. "C'mon John."  
"Well it was nice to meet you." 

John watched them saddle their horses, Sherlock surprisingly remembered how to do it correctly and even finished before Kristine. They led them out into the yard and Kristine was on her horse in the blink of an eye.  
"Do you remember how to mount Sherlock?"  
"Of course I do."  
"Well, c'mon then." She took off, leaving Sherlock behind.  
It took him a few times before he was on Björn's back, Sherlock heard John laugh and looked down at him with narrowed eyes.  
"Not a word to anyone."  
"No, of course not." 

John waited before they were a good distance before he took his phone out of his pocket and recorded videos, and he may have sent them to everyone they know.

________________________________

From his spot on the bed his ears picked up on the running water, Kristine was in the shower. His eyes flickered from the page of his book towards the door, every so often. Figuring he could use a shower too he got off the bed and opened the bathroom door.  
Kristine paused washing the shampoo from her hair and turned to face the blurry figure behind the sliding bubble glass doors in the light.  
"What are you doing?"  
"Taking a shower." He said, she could see him taking his clothes off, blood rushed to her cheeks, an ache settled between her thighs and squeezing them did no help.  
"I-I see that but I'm in the shower."  
"So? I've seen you naked before."  
"No, no. You've seen me in my underwear and swimsuit, partially naked...you haven't seen all of it."  
"Are you going to let me in or not? I'm naked and its cold in here."  
Sighing she nodded, "fine, whatever, but eyes above the shoulders." 

Sherlock stepped in the shower and sighed at the warmth if the warm water.  
"Since your here." She handed him a body wash. "Get my back will you?"  
She turned around to look at him, moving her long brown hair out of the way. "Please?"  
Squirting a good size amount onto her loofa, inhaling the floral aroma.  
Sherlock hit a pretty tense part of her back and she sighed. Sherlock's hands traveled to her lower back, pinky finger trailing down the curve of her spine. Moving back up near her neck he subtly placed two fingers on her pulse point for a second before working out one of the knots.  
"Do you want to get my front too?" She teased, Sherlock dropped the loofa, Kristine snorted with laughter as he bent down to pick it up with his eyes closed.  
When he had it in his hands he opened his eyes, getting a full look at her womanhood. She was almost completely clean shaven except for a little patch of hair and he could see a bit of her folds from the small gap between her thighs.  
Sherlock won't lie, he's fantasized about her before, a few instances when they were teenagers but also recently, she does pop in his head every now and again. The man has never been the type to really have carnal urges, he hardly masturbates for crying out loud. But there was something about her. He thought of what it might be like to have her underneath him, moaning his name. He's seen her in a swimsuit, gone bra shopping with her, he knew the size of her breasts, a modest d-cup with a 32 band, but he's never seen them in their glory, soft pink nipples, erect from the slight chilly breeze that blew in from the crack he left in the doors. Looking at her now, he's filled with a certain need, a want he didn't even know he had. Eventually he had to stand up. When he did he was met with her eyes, pupils blown wide and what was left of her eyes resembled the sea during a storm. Her breathing was uneven, Sherlock brushed a finger along her wrist, taking her pulse, hard and fast underneath her skin.  
"I suppose I should wash you now," she whispered with a husky tone to her voice. "Unless you were thinking of something else."  
Sherlock ran his hands along her arms, stepping closer.  
"Who knew Sherlock could feel physical attraction..." she began to joke, a thumb on her bottom lip, cupping her face in his hand.  
"If we do this, its going to change...everything." She whispered.  
Kissing Sherlock was just how she remembered, his lips were soft and warm, always having a hint of tea on them.  
Kristine propped up on her toes and used his biceps for balance.  
His hands trailed along her body, he quickly discovered her sensitive areas, the curve of her hip-bones, the space between her fourth and fifth ribs on the left side, her right collarbone, her neck. Savouring the whimpers and moans that escaped her perfect lips.  
Sherlock pushed her against the shower wall and trailed his lips down her neck, nipping at her collarbone. Kristine's hands tangled in his curls and she gave them a tug. Sherlock groaned against her skin, moving back to her lips, she could feel him, hard against her stomach. He let her to wrap her legs around his waist, groaning deep as his cock brushed against the soft curve of her ass. With the hot water cascading over them, the steam swirling and clouding around them, it was like they were in their own secret world.  
A private place were nothing mattered but the feel and taste of her tongue against his, the lush press of her tits, her nipples pebbled hard against his chest, the firm curves of her ass filling his hands as he held her there he shifted, hooking his elbows under her knees. Another slight adjustment, and his cock was there, probing the entrance of her womanhood as she whimpered and sucked his tongue into her mouth. He broke away and looked at her.  
"Are you sure? Absolutely?"  
"Ja det er jeg." She whispered, "jeg vil ha deg."  
His breath stuck in his chest as he entered her, slowly. He looked down and in the light, he could see the head of his cock disappearing inside of her, the way her body stretched to accommodate his size.  
He meant to go slow, take his time, take it easy on her. But one thrust had him buried so deep he could feel the press of her ass against his balls as she moaned and squirmed against him. He forced himself to hold still, taking her mouth in slow, deep kisses as he held himself inside her.  
Soon Kristine was arching her head back, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she tried to ride the cock pinning her so firmly to the wall. "Sherlock, please. I need you to move."  
Gripping her hips, he rocked in, out, groaning at the weight of her body helped him go even deeper than he had before, until every millimeter of his cock was in the snug grip of her sex. "So hot, tight," he murmured mindlessly.  
"Sherlock, Sher-lock," she chanted, and he swung his hips in rhythm with her cries, struggling to hold back. He imagined what it would be like with her, so wet, so tight, so slick around him as he drove inside. Even better, unbelievably, than his imagination.  
It was like he couldn't get close enough, get deep enough inside of her. And she was right there with him, clawing his shoulders, crying his name, begging him for deeper, harder, faster, more.  
He gave it to her, relentless as he pounded into her. Suddenly she stiffened and gave a high, frantic cry, and he knew she was close. He gave one last hard thrust, rotating his hips at the end, twisting his cock high inside as he ground against her pubic bone from the front.  
Her sex contracted around him, squeezing, milking him to his own pleasure. His balls pulled tight and he was just about to let go when...  
"Sherlock?"  
He opened his eyes, Kristine was standing by the bed, in her pyjamas, hair wrapped in a towel. "Are you okay?"  
Sherlock blinked, he pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing his eyes, annoyed by how he let his imagination run wild for a moment, completely and entirely as he thought about making her his. "Yes," was his response, "yes I'm fine."


	18. Chapter Nineteen

In the morning, Kristine woke up to an empty bed.   
Sherlock walked out of the bathroom, fully dressed, he stared at her, hair a mess, with her knees to her chest. She wiped her eyes and looked at him.   
"What time is it?"  
"Just after ten."  
Kristine hummed, "how are you holding up without your work?"   
"Fine."   
"Fine?" She questioned, eyebrows raised. "Are we sure?"   
"Yes."   
"Hmm, okay then." She slipped out of bed and walked passed him into the bathroom.

"You're sister's here," Sherlock said when she walked out of the bathroom, going straight for her closet, "is she?"  
"Yes, and she brought the family."   
"How is Harry? Is he big yet?" She asked, stepping into her pants. Sherlock sat on the bed, watching her move about the room, getting dressed for the day.   
"No bigger than a four month old should be."   
She finished the laces on her boots and stood up straight.   
"Well lets go say hi." She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door. 

Downstairs, Elsa was on the couch with Harry, keeping him occupied with toys. She heard the creak of the stairs and turned, "Kristine! There you are."   
Kristine moved for the couch and sat down beside her sister.   
"How are things?"   
"Things are good." Kristine said, she looked past her and straight to the baby, "and how is my nephew?"   
"He's teething," she said with a hint of exhaustion in her tone, "Ingrid told me it was a nightmare when Annie was teething, but I just brushed it off."  
"But now you know."  
"Now I know."   
Harry moved to roll on his stomach, Elsa noticed and picked him up, placing the child on her lap.   
"Harry, look, its auntie Kristine." She cooed, moving the baby so he could see her better. He looked at her confused for a moment and squirmed. His confusion melted away into a smile and he bounced in his mothers arms, letting out a little squeal.   
"I thought he wouldn't remember me."   
"Well this is the first time he's really seen you, outside of being a head on a computer screen."   
"Where are the boys? And my mother?"   
"The men are outside, doing God-knows-what and your mother is in the kitchen."   
Harry began to grow fussy.   
"How's Sherlock?" Elsa asked, readjusting the babe in her lap.   
"He's fine, for the most part. He hasn't been able to work since we got here and I think its starting to get to him."  
"Why don't we make a case for him? Perhaps 'the case of my missing earrings'?"   
"No, he'd see through that in a second."   
"So whats the relationship like between you two? Still denying your feelings like children? Or have you accepted how you feel and are acting like adults about it?" Elsa asked, raising her eyebrows suggestively. Kristine sighed, "its not like that between us, anymore. I mean yes we kissed a few times years ago but that was...it. We're just friends now."   
"Keep telling yourself that Kris. I know a woman in love when I see one. Your head over heels for him. You always have been, even thirteen years later. You still love him...which is probably why you've never had a boyfriend."   
"Elsa!"   
"What?" 

________________________________

John stepped out of the house, holding a mug of tea in his hands. Sherlock was standing by himself, watching something. John walked up to him, feet crunching in the snow. "Where's Kristine?"   
Sherlock pointed out to the field, John could see what looked to be a horse, running with someone on its back.   
"Is she all the way out there?"  
"Yup," Sherlock said, popping the 'p'.   
"Why aren't you out there with her?"  
"I promised her one ride, John."   
John brought his mug up to his lips but paused to say something else, "but if she asked you to go out with her again, you'd say yes."   
"Mmm no."   
"You would."  
"I wouldn't."  
"You definitely would."  
"No."   
"You wouldn't."  
"I would."   
John smiled to himself, Sherlock turned around to face John, having realized he just made him confess that if she were to ask him to ride with her again even though he doesn't care for it at all. Actually, he'd do anything for her if she asked. 

 

A knock on the door stirred Kristine in her sleep, she hummed loudly, the knocking continued.   
"Just a second!" Opening her eyes she tried to get out of bed, unfortunately she was trapped by the creature known as Sherlock Holmes. Turning her body the best she could she faced him. How did they get there? They set up a pillow wall. Clearly Sherlock disregarded the wall of pillows.   
"Sherlock," she whispered, tapping his cheek. He flinched away from her hand, pulling her closer, Kristine smiled with amusement, who knew Sherlock was a cuddler? Well she had some indication but they never cuddled that much when they were together as teenagers, just occasionally when they watched movies and perhaps it was the cold that made him rather physically affectionate. Trying once more to squirm free she managed and stumbled a little towards the front door. Standing behind it was her dad.  
"Good morning or should I say good afternoon."  
"What time is it?"  
"Just after 1pm, elskling."   
Kristine blinked and mulled it over, narrowing her eyebrows she looked at her dad. "Really? We slept that late? Huh."   
"Your uncle, your friend John and I are going on a hike, would you and Sherlock like to join us?"   
Kristine smiled widely at him, "yeah! That sounds great! I'll um, I'll wake him and we'll be down shortly. But fair warning," she leaned in and whispered, "he's a little grumpy when he wakes up." 

After shutting the door she walked back to the bed and climbed up, she sat on his side, trying to use her body weight to wake him up while she said his name fairly loudly.   
"Is that really how your trying to wake me? You weigh less than the average person so crushing me won't work." He croaked out, opening an eye to look at her. "What time is it?"  
"Just after one, the boys and I are going on a hike, and your coming too."  
"But its cold," he complained.   
"Oh come on Sherlock, you can't spend the entire trip indoors, come on, live a little. Where's your sense of adventure?"   
Sherlock sighed with exasperation, he rolled over, almost knocking her off him, but she stayed firmly attached to his hips.   
"Oh why couldn't we have come in the summer time?"   
"So does that mean you'll come?"  
"If you get off me."  
She was quick to comply and began to run around the bedroom, getting ready for the day.  

 

The trail they picked wasn't that far away from home. Before they left Kristine made sure the boys were wearing their ice grips. Well she knew John would remember but Sherlock is a stubborn man and often pouts about the simplest things, like the instance where he refused to get dressed at Buckingham Palace. She was walking with Sherlock, her father, Rollo and John were ahead of them.   
"Its freezing," Sherlock complained.  
"Oh would you relax? Its not that cold."  
"Its colder than London."  
"Not really, no."   
"Yes it is."  
"No isn't."  
"Is."  
"Isn't."   
"Is."   
"Isn't."  
"Children please, not here." John sighed from in front of them. Kristine stopped walking, she bent down and rolled a ball of snow in her hands, she stood up and threw it at John, it hit his back.   
"Seriously!"   
Kristine and Sherlock laughed.   
Farther up the trail, Kristine noticed something in the trees.   
"Guys, guys look."  
They turned to where she was pointing. A male reindeer was walking around, searching for something.   
"Look at the size of his antlers."   
"We should continue on, don't want to disturb him." 

________________________________

"So what are the plans for New Years?" John asked when they went down for breakfast that morning.   
"Erm, fireworks, maybe a couple beers, lots of food. I imagine its not much different than what your used to."   
"Where's Sherlock?"  
"Asleep still. He's not used to not working constantly, his body is starting to realize its exhausted. He might sleep for the rest of the day."   
"What was he like, you know, back then?"   
"Not much different, he wasn't quite as adventurous until I entered his life. He still retained some sort of human emotion and understanding. I don't know if my leaving has anything to so with the way he is now or not. But his parents told me he wasn't the same after."   
"He has parents? He never talks about them."   
Kristine smiled, "well both of his parents are perfectly ordinary and completely wonderful. His parents got along with my parents. Sherlock and I could walk into each others houses whenever we pleased. It wasn't odd for me to wake up some mornings to have him standing in my bedroom or sitting at my desk." She remembered something and sighed, "there have been many occasions where when I woke up he'd say "I said could you pass me a pen?" And then I'd ask him, "when did you ask me that?" And he'd say, "about two hours ago.""   
"And you didn't find that weird?"  
"Oh not at all. I mean that's just who he is. That's just Sherlock. It would be weird if he didn't."   
John smiled at her, "you care about him don't you?"  
"Very much, yes."   
"Do you love him?"  
Kristine choked on her coffee, "sorry?"  
"Sherlock, do you love Sherlock?"   
"Uh...I guess...I think-I think so...yes. Why is that so important to you?"  
"Well because he loves you and you love him and you should stop dancing circles around each other."  
Kristine shook her head, "oh no, Sherlock doesn't love."

 

Sherlock held onto Kristine's hand and yawned deeply as she led him outside into the cold winter air.   
She sat him down in a chair and went to sit in the one next to his but he pulled her onto his lap, nuzzling his face in her shoulder.   
"Hey," she whispered, tapping his face, "stay awake. You can go back to sleep after." Kristine felt the staring eyes of John, she turned around and saw him grinning like an idiot, "what?" She mouthed, an annoyed expression plastered on her face that quickly melted away when Sherlock tightened his grip on her. The first set of fireworks caught her attention, she looked up at the sky and stared at the pink sparks. Sherlock looked up briefly too.   
They stared at the sky, looking at all the different colours and shapes that the fireworks created. Kristine felt Sherlock lace his fingers with hers, he tried to be subtle about it, but the brush of his gloves gave him away. She smiled softly and squeezed his hand gently. When the others were distracted momentarily by the grand finale, Sherlock placed his finger under her chin, turning her head to look at him.   
"Happy New Years, Kristine." He said, kissing her lips lightly, enough to make her melt under him.   
"Happy New Years," her voice came out in a dazed whisper, eyes sparkling. She wanted to kiss him again, she really wanted too. But instead she pressed her lips together and turned back to the fireworks, in time to see the last flashes of colour across the sky.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Kristine stepped out of the cab, a couple police cars down. She payed the driver and slung her duffle bag over her shoulder. Spotting Sherlock she sighed and walked quickly over to him.   
"Hey, what's going on?"   
Sherlock smiled at her, not even paying any attention to Lestrade anymore. Lestrade noticed the change when he spotted her. He was still talking to Sherlock but he didn't appear to hear a single word he said. When Kristine reached them he moved closer to her, keeping close contact. Lestrade watched him pit his hand lm her arm as a comforting move as she asked what happened, who was hurt, the like.   
"We had a break in, but don't worry, everyone is fine, I have John looking after Mrs. Hudson."   
Kristine nodded, "was there a motive?"   
"I'll tell you later." His hand went from her arm to rest on her back.   
"Okay." She saw Lestrade and smiled, "oh hi! Good to see you again, erm...Greg was it?"   
"Yes, hi." He moved to shake her hand, "how are you?"   
"I'm fine, bit of a shocking return home I think."   
"Oh, you live here?"   
"Yeah, just next door, on the other side of Speedy's."   
Lestrade nodded, he noticed Sherlock's hand move from her back to grab her hand, lacing their fingers together. Lestrade's read enough cosmopolitan, to try and fix things with the wife, and noticed the signs of a man enamoured, and Sherlock clearly was. Weather he realized it or if she did was the real question, either way it was a very odd sight to see Sherlock in love, actually to Lestrade it was kind of frightening.   
"He's holding your hand," he said, a little amused.   
Kristine looked down and chuckled, "oh, yeah. He always does."   
"Any particular reason or..."  
"No, not that I can think of."   
"Okay," he said, clearly not believing a word she said. Even Kristine had to see this behaviour as odd. But perhaps she was just as oblivious to his feelings as he was.   
She turned back to Sherlock, "I'm going to go put my bag upstairs and I'll be over, okay."   
Sherlock nodded, she let go of his hand and walked towards her front door, slipping inside.   
"Your in love," Lestrade concluded.   
Sherlock turned to face him, "what?"  
"I said it, you are in love, with her."   
"Don't be ridiculous Gavin, I don't love."  
"Yes you do, and you love her." He stepped onto the road to get into his car, "and you better tell her before somebody else snatches her away."   
Sherlock watched him drive off before walking inside. 

________________________________

Sherlock hesitated, he had a plan forming in his head, he spent days mulling over Lestrade's words, over John's, he went through the body language he's shown her, the hand holding, the constant touching. The sweet words, he's called her "my Kristine", on numerous occasions he's told her she was the only one that mattered, truly mattered. Well of course he cared some measures for the people around him, namely John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade somewhat. But it was her. When he closed his eyes, she was there, when he entered his mind palace she was there waiting. She made him feel warm, teeming with life. She was the sun to him. She was the sun and he loved her, sure he knew on some degree that he cared about her years ago but he never thought of love.   
Love, love, love. That silly stupid word. That emotion that made people feel both positive and negative emotions. Certainty and uncertainty, all rolled together in a confusing mess. He loved her, but he was terrified of being with her. He was afraid that she would get up at leave again, exit his life for a second time, leave him lonely once more. That was something he was sure he wouldn't be able to...he didn't want to think about what would happen to him if she did. But he wanted her, even so, would she want him? Did she see him the same way he saw her? His mind went through all the scenarios hat could possibly happen if he told her.   
Realizing that today is Valentines Day he went to John.   
He was thrilled that Sherlock was finally listening to his heart instead of his head. He suggested he buy Kristine her favourite flowers, he even gave him the number of a nice restaurant to make a dinner reservation. 

The sun set when Sherlock stepped out of his flat, he had flowers in his hand that John helped him pick out, roses, lilies and jasmine flowers.   
A car parked outside of her flat and a man with sandy blond hair stepped out. Kristine's door opened and she walked out wearing a silk dress in blush pink, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. He smiled when he saw her but his face fell when she grabbed the man's hand and he helped her in the car. The flowers slipped from his hand and a foreign feeling filled his chest. He felt heavy, his heart ached, hands trembling. He felt the urge to cry, what the hell was happening.   
Spinning on his heel he went back upstairs. The door slammed shut, startling John from his laptop. He looked over at Sherlock who sped straight off for his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.   
Feeling concerned John got up from his chair and knocked on his door.   
"Sherlock? You alright? What happened?"   
When he got no response he opened the door, Sherlock was curled up in his bed, back towards the door. He didn't even bother taking off his coat and shoes.   
"Sherlock?"   
He mumbled something that John couldn't hear.   
"What?"   
"She has a date, John!" He said a little louder, sitting up quickly. In the light from the hallway John could see his face was wet and his eyes were red.   
"Are you crying?"  
Sherlock didn't answer him, he just turned his head away, bringing his legs up to his chest.   
Clearing his throat John turned back towards the door, "I'll leave you alone, if you want to talk, I'll be downstairs."   
The door shut, Sherlock quickly laid down again, curled up. The pressure he felt in his chest became to much, a sound he's never made before ripped through his chest. What was happening? Was he dying? It certainly felt like he was. His head hurt, he felt sick, he didn't understand what was happening to him but he hated every moment of it.   
John heard the sound from behind the door and shook his head sadly.   
Mrs. Hudson came upstairs, concerned.   
"I heard the door slam, is everything okay? I thought Sherlock was going out tonight."   
"He um, he was. But apparently Kristine already had a date."   
"Oh poor thing, I should go check on him."   
John grabbed Mrs. Hudson by the arms gently.   
"No, its best we leave him alone. He'll come around." 

When Sherlock came out of his room in the morning he looked exhausted.   
"Did you sleep at all?" John asked from his paper.  
"No," was all he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He went over to his violin, he looked out the window. Kristine stepped out of her flat. The same man from last night was waiting for her. He smiled when he saw her, she tossed her duffle bag in the back and got in the passengers seat.   
"Do you want to talk about it?"   
"No." He started playing, filtering his sadness through the instrument. 

This went on for weeks, Sherlock was distant, he spent most of his time in his room. He barely ate, well he barely ate anyway but it was worse now. He wasn't sleeping either, he didn't take any cases which was most concerning. Lestrade trued to coax him from his bedroom with interesting cases, brutal murders and the like but he didn't get a response. Mrs. Hudson would bring him tea but he wouldn't acknowledge her. Kristine came around, asking if Sherlock is okay having not seen him for a few weeks.   
On a rare day he would leave his room to play his violin by the window. He did that afternoon, John was sitting in his chair when he asked the question.   
"Am I dying, John?"   
The shorter man sighed, even depressed he was a dramatic as ever.   
"No," he said. "Sherlock, your not dying. Your just heartbroken."   
"I hate this feeling," he seethed, swallowing thickly, trying to ignore this ceaseless ache in his chest.   
"I know."   
"No John, you don't understand, it hurts."   
"No Sherlock, I understand. I do."   
Sherlock took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He set his violin down and retreated to his bedroom again.   
John grabbed his phone and dialled a number. Mycroft picked up on the other end.   
"How is he?"  
"The same, maybe worse. Its hard to tell with him."   
"Has he spoken to her?"   
"No, she's come around asking where he's been."   
Mycroft sighed, "keep an eye on him, if he leaves the flat go with him. We don't want him too...anyway, we'll catch up later." He hung up. 

________________________________

Kristine washed her hands in the kitchen sink when there was a knock on the door. She dried them on a tea towel and opened it. "Oh John, hi."   
She let the man inside.   
"Is Sherlock feeling any better?"   
"No, erm, no he isn't."   
"What did he come down with again?"   
John hadn't told her that Sherlock was heartbroken, over her no less. Instead he just told her he was sick.  
"The flu."   
"Are you sure I can't go up to see him?"  
"No, he doesn't want to see anyone."   
Kristine smiled sadly and nodded.   
"So how's that boyfriend of yours? What's his name? William?"   
Kristine chuckled and started to make tea, "um yes his name was William and he's fine, or I'm sure he's fine. I wouldn't know."   
John raised an eyebrow, "you wouldn't know?"  
"I uh, I broke it off a week ago."   
"Oh, any particular reason?"   
"Um, it didn't feel right I guess, it was mutual."   
She handed him a cup of tea and sat down on her couch.   
"I've tried texting him but he won't answer, even if he is sick, his fingers are still functioning." 

________________________________

Kristine stood in the doorway and smiled when she saw Sherlock at the window, violin in his hands. She smiled at John and made herself known.   
"So your feeling better, I see. You could have at least returned my texts."   
Sherlock's head snapped towards her and he frowned, "what are you doing here?"  
"I came to say hi."  
"Go away."   
Kristine blinked, confused. He's never told her to go away before.  
"Sherlock, are you alright?"   
He walked towards her, towering.   
"I said go away. Leave!" He seethed, anger in his eyes mixed with pain, pain she had unknowingly caused.   
"Sherlock? What's the matter with you?"   
Sherlock grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to the front door, she ripped away from him.   
"What is the matter with you, Sherlock Holmes?" She yelled.   
"Go away, Kristine. I don't want to see you."   
"You don't want to see me? That's very uncharacteristic of you. What's wrong? You can tell me."   
Sherlock could hear his heartbeat in his ears, his chest ached something terrible and he had to fight with himself to not cry.   
"Just...get...out." He opened the door and she almost fell from the force.   
"Please don't shut me out, Sherlock..."   
He shut the door in her face. Her lower lip trembled, she felt an ache of her own, he's never acted like that with her before, he's never been angry, never, her mind was spinning, breathing became a task all on its own. Stumbling away from the door she tried to wipe away the waterfall that spilled from her eyes as she walked passed Speedy's and into her own flat.


	20. Chapter Twenty

"Just talk to her," John said, following Sherlock around the flat.  
"Why should I?"  
"She misses you, she doesn't understand what she did wrong, Sherlock."  
Sherlock picked up his violin, "I don't want to." He kept his face away from John, so he wouldn't see the pain in his eyes that he was still feeling and that infernal ache in his chest just would not go away.  
"Will you act like an adult for once in your life and just..."  
John was interrupted by the screech of strings. Instead of getting angry, John just picked up his coat and walked out of the flat, Sherlock watched him get into a cab with Kristine from the window.  
Truthfully, he did want to see her again. He really wanted too. But he didn't think he could, not right now anyway. What would he say to her? How would be apologize? "I'm sorry" probably wouldn't solve it. He knew he made her cry, that little noise she made when he shut the door indicated it enough. He wanted nothing more than to open the door again and beg for her forgiveness. Every day he watched her leave her flat with the duffle bag over her shoulder and he watched her come back exhausted. Occasionally she would look up at his window and look away, unlocking the front door of her flat. He watched her and John have a conversation on the sidewalk after they did the shopping together, oh how he missed her smile, hearing her laugh, speaking to him sweetly, having their own private conversations in her mother tongue. He lost her thirteen years ago, she came back to him and now he was losing her again. In anger, at himself he threw the violin across the room, hearing it break in pieces as it hit the wall. He slumped to the floor and grabbed fistfuls of his curls. What was he doing? He didn't know. Sherlock didn't know how to process these emotions inside of him, they all came crashing down on him. John heard something being thrown violently and walked upstairs, placing the shopping bags down. He saw Sherlock on the floor, crumpled and defeated with himself. His violin sat on the couch, damaged beyond repair, leaving a dent in the wall.  
"Sherlock? Are you okay?"  
He didn't answer him.  
"Kristine has a performance coming up, if your interested."  
John thought through the silence, "okay." He went through the shopping and put it away. Afterwards he called to Sherlock.  
"I'll be downstairs."  
When he left Sherlock got up off the floor and picked up the broken violin, cursing under his breath. He grabbed his coat and left the flat. 

________________________________

Kristine entered her dressing room, her Juliet costumes hung up on the door behind her. She made the decision to flatten her chest a little but, strictly on how flowy the costumes were and how easily she could slip in one of them. Flowers sat on the vanity, a lovely bouquet of lilies and carnations from John and Mrs. Hudson. She smiled and gave them a smell. Behind it was a rose, just one, tied around it was a soft pink ribbon. She picked it up and brought the flower to her lips, inhaling its sweet fragrance. She knew almost immediately it was from Sherlock. She had no idea if she would see him tonight, she didn't expect too. Setting the flower down she put her hair up and got ready.  
Sherlock sat in his seat next to Mrs. Hudson and John. He hesitated on coming, he really did and he almost didn't. But oh how he loved to watch her dance. Watching her dance Juliet was ethereal and emotional, especially after the death of Tybolt when Romeo was to be sent into exile. But her dance after discovering Romeo's death was the most heartbreaking. 

They found her after the production, on the arm of the man who played Romeo. Sherlock made some excuse of how he needed to go pick something up at Bart's, but John could see right through him this time. They talked about it before they got in the cab, he was going to talk to her. He already left her a rose. But seeing her with another man made him walk away, from jealously most likely or he was still hurt from what happened weeks ago. John would have thought he would have walked over to them and intimidated and belittled the man she was with and cause a scene, instead he just walked away. 

________________________________

From outside the window he saw her exit the car, the man from the other night saw her to the door, she placed a kiss on his cheek and stepped inside. Sherlock swallowed thickly, turning away from the glass.  
He picked up his phone and stared at her name, right above the call button. He hesitated. Does he call her? Does he leave it? He doesn't know what to do. Uncharacteristic, he knows, but he doesn't. What does he say to her? He doesn't know. He wants to fix it, he wants to desperately. He can't lose her again.

 

Kristine laid in bed, her phone beeped at her, and again, and again. No doubt messages from John. But she didn't want to answer them, she turned away from her phone and curled up, holding onto one of her pillows. She couldn't figure out what she did wrong. She went on a date with someone in the company and then Sherlock just...she doesn't understand. Rolling over she picked up her phone and checked the messages she sent him. He's seen every single one of them and hasn't bothered to reply. Scrolling up she pressed John's name and read his texts, full of concern. Her phone beeped and a new name popped up. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.  
She opened it. 

(John's told me you're despondent. If you need to talk. -Mycroft Holmes.) 

She got another message from Charles, the new guy she's been seeing. Dating him was not her first choice, but she couldn't just sit around and wait for Sherlock anymore, she's waited long enough, she thinks. The main reason she came back to London was to be with him again, in his life and rebuild whatever it was they had years ago. But whenever it seems like they're getting back on that track he deflects and acts like their friends. He even labeled the kiss on New Years as just what it was, a New Years kiss, nothing else. Rubbing her eyes she sat up, in her mind, whatever he had for her was gone, lost to the wind. 

________________________________

After Irene had left his life, Sherlock went over to Kristine's. Having had enough of the distance, he needed to see her again, see her face, her her voice. He opened the front door, saying a quick hello to Mrs. Turner before walking up the stairs. Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out the key he had made. Why shouldn't he have one. He stepped inside, he was met with the floral scent he missed so much. But her flat was empty. The mug of half drunken tea was cold on her coffee table. So was the blanket scrunched up on the cushion. He checked her bedroom, the bed was unmade and the mattress was cold. She's been gone for a while.  
Laughter from outside the window drew his attention. She stepped out of Charles' car and says her goodbyes.  
Sherlock could hear the rustling of keys only for the door to push open. She stood there, eyes wide, clearly surprised to see him standing in her flat.  
"Hi..." she breathed.  
"Hi."  
She put her duffle bag on the couch.  
"What are you doing here?"  
"I needed to see you."  
"Really? After weeks of silence you wanted to see me?"  
"Yes."  
Kristine nodded awkwardly and looked around the room, "any particular reason?"  
"I missed you."  
The answer came as a shock to Kristine, she looked at Sherlock with wide eyes, "you missed me?"  
"More than I could put into words." He spoke honestly, shrugging a little.  
"So...your with him...that man."  
"His name is Charles, and yes, we're together."  
"Why?"  
"Because I can't keep waiting for something I know is never going to happen."  
Sherlock's expression lowered, he looked at the hardwood of her floor, she knew what she meant. She couldn't keep waiting for him.  
He nodded and looked up, "John and I are going on a little trip up to Dartmoor for a case, care to come?"  
Kristine sighed heavily, looking out the window, she thought about it for a moment. They didn't stop having to be friends, it would be hard but they could make it work. "Sure, just let me make some calls and pack a bag." She took her phone out of her pocket and walked off towards her bedroom.  
Sherlock smiled a little to himself, he had plans to get her back, what better way than to take her on an adventure with him.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

Later, John carries two suitcases onto the street he shuts the front door and walks over to Sherlock who is holding a taxi door open. Kristine is already inside, a duffle bag by her feet, she has her legs crossed and is texting someone.   
Next door in Speedy’s, Mrs Hudson is shouting angrily at Mr. Chatterjee.   
"...cruise together. You had no intention of taking me on it!" She throws something at the closed door. As it bounces heavily off the glass, John recoils. "Oh! Looks like Mrs Hudson finally got to the wife in Doncaster."   
"Mmm. Wait ’til she finds out about the one in Islamabad."   
John sniggers and gets into the taxi. Sherlock follows him in.  
"Paddington Station, please." 

________________________________

John watches Kristine effortlessly climb up the large stone outcrop. Sherlock was following her of course, not too far behind. When she reaches the top she takes a deep breath and smiles, "you can see everything from up here! Are you sure you're not going to come up with us John?"  
"No, I'm fine down here thank you." He says, unfolding the map in his hands. He points ahead of himself at a large array of  
buildings in the distance. "There’s Baskerville."   
He turns and points behind them. Sherlock and Kristine turn to look.   
"That’s Grimpen Village."   
He turns and looks ahead of them again, checking the map for the name of the heavily wooded area to the left of the Baskerville complex.  
"So that must be...yeah, it’s Dewer’s Hollow."   
Sherlock points to an area in between the complex and the Hollow.  
"What’s that?"   
"Hmm?" He has binoculars on a strap around his neck and now he lifts them and looks more closely at the fencing and the warning signs.  
"Minefield? Technically Baskerville’s an army base, so I guess they’ve always been keen to keep people out."   
"Clearly." 

 

Sherlock drives them into Grimpen Village and pull into the car park of the Cross Keys inn. They get out and walk towards the entrance of the pub, where a young man who is apparently a tour guide is talking to a group of tourists.   
"...three times a day, tell your friends. Tell anyone!" They walk past the group and see that Fletcher is standing next to a large sign on which is painted a black image of a wolf-like creature with the words “BEWARE THE HOUND!!” above it.   
"Don’t be strangers, and remember...stay away from the moor at night if you value your lives!"   
Sherlock has been pulling his overcoat around him as he walks towards the pub, and now he pops the collar. John and Kristine look round at him pointedly.   
Sherlock is trying and failing to look nonchalant. "It's cold."   
The tourist group walks away from Fletcher. Once their backs are turned he puts on a large shaggy wolf’s-head mask. Sherlock and John walk into the pub, which has a blackboard outside advertising “Boutique Rooms & Vegetarian Cuisine.” Fletcher runs over to a couple of the nearby tourists and roars. They flinch and the woman shrieks in surprise. 

While Sherlock prowls around the interior of the pub, John and Kristine are at the bar checking in. The manager and barman, Gary, hands him some keys.   
"Eh, sorry we couldn’t do a double room for you."   
"That’s fine, we're not...this isn't..."  
He looks at the smug knowing smile on Gary’s face and gives up.  
John gave him some money for the drink he has just bought. "There you go."   
"Oh, ta. I’ll just get your change."   
"Ta."   
"What does "ta" mean?" Kristine asked, looking up at John.   
"Thank you."   
"Oh," she says. "Okay, cause I hear you say it a lot and I never quite understood what it meant."   
John’s glance falls on a pile of receipts and invoices which have been punched onto a spike on the bar. He frowns when he sees that one is labelled “Undershaw Meat Supplies.” Quickly he reaches out and rips it from the spike, putting it into his pocket as Gary comes back with his change.  
"There you go."   
"I couldn’t help noticing on the map of the moor: a skull and crossbones."   
"Oh that, aye."   
"Pirates?"   
"Eh, no, no. The Great Grimpen Minefield, they call it."  
"Oh, right."   
"It’s not what you think. It’s the Baskerville testing site. It’s been going for eighty-odd years. I’m not sure anyone really knows what’s there any more."  
Nearby, Sherlock is still prowling around and now seems to find something of interest at one of the tables.  
"Explosives?"   
"Oh, not just explosives. Break into that place and – if you’re lucky – you just get blown up, so they say...in case you’re planning on a nice wee stroll."   
Sherlock loses interest in the table and wanders off again.   
"Ta. I’ll remember."   
"Aye. No, it buggers up tourism a bit, so thank God for the demon hound!" He chuckles, coming out from behind the bar presumably to clear some glasses. "Did you see that show, that documentary?"   
"Quite recently, yeah."   
"Aye. God bless Henry Knight and his monster from hell."   
"Ever seen it – the hound?"   
"Me? No."   
He points out the door past Sherlock, where Fletcher is just outside the pub and talking on his phone.  
"Fletcher has. He runs the walks – the Monster Walks for the tourists, you know? He’s seen it."   
"That’s handy for trade."  
Gary turns to a man who is clearly the inn’s cook who has just arrived behind the bar. Meanwhile Sherlock turns and follows Fletcher as he walks away from the doorway.  
"I’m just saying we’ve been rushed off our feet, Billy."   
"Yeah. Lots of monster-hunters. Doesn’t take much these days. One mention on Twitter and oomph."   
He looks at Gary.  
"We’re out of WKD."   
"Alright."   
He walks behind the bar again. Billy turns to John.  
"What with the monster and that ruddy prison, I don’t know how we sleep nights. Do you, Gary?"   
Gary stops and puts a hand on his shoulder and looks at him affectionately.  
"Like a baby."   
"That’s not true." He looks at John. "He’s a snorer."   
Kristine smiles at the man and giggles a little. 

Outside, Sherlock swipes a half-drunk pint of beer from a nearby empty table and walks over towards Fletcher, noticing as he does so that he has a copy of the Racing Post newspaper in his trouser pocket. Fletcher has gone over to another of the tables and is just finishing his phone call.   
"Yeah...no. Alright? Right. Take care. ’Bye."   
"Mind if I join you?"   
Fletcher shrugs and gestures to the table. Sherlock puts his pint down and sits on the bench on the other side of the table.   
"It’s not true, is it? You haven’t actually seen this...hound thing." He grins in a friendly way.   
Fletcher looks at him suspiciously. "You from the papers?"   
"No, nothing like that. Just curious. Have you seen it?"   
"Maybe."   
"Got any proof?"   
"Why would I tell you if I did? ’Scuse me."   
He stands up to leave just as John comes over with his own drink.   
"Where's Kristine?"  
"Getting a drink, so I called Henry..."   
"The bet's off, John, sorry." Sherlock said, talking over John.   
"What?"  
"Bet?"   
Kristine comes over, setting her own pint on the table. "What's this about a bet?"   
Sherlock looks at his watch. "My plan needs darkness." He looks up at the sky. "Reckon we’ve got another half an hour of light..."   
"Wait, wait. What bet?"   
"Oh, I bet John here fifty quid that you couldn’t prove you’d seen the hound."   
John catches on immediately and looks at Fletcher. "Yeah, the guys in the pub said you could."   
Fletcher smiles and points to Sherlock.  
"Well, you’re gonna lose your money, mate."   
"Yeah?"   
"Yeah. I’ve seen it." He takes out his phone and begins searching through it. "Only about a month ago, up at the Hollow. It was foggy, mind – couldn’t make much out."   
"I see. No witnesses, I suppose."   
"No, but..."   
"Never are."   
"Wait..."   
He shows Sherlock a photograph.   
"There."   
Sherlock looks at the photograph which shows a dark-furred four-legged something in the distance but, with no scale amongst the surrounding vegetation, it’s impossible to tell the size – or even the species – of the animal. He snorts.   
"Is that it? It’s not exactly proof, is it?"  
Fletcher shows the photo to John. And then to Kristine.   
"Sorry, John. I win."  
He picks up the stolen beer glass and makes as if to drink from it, although he never does. "Wait, wait. That’s not all. People don’t like going up there, you know – to the Hollow. Gives them a ... bad sort of feeling."   
"Ooh! Is it haunted? Is that supposed to convince me?"   
He puts down the glass again.  
"Nah, don’t be stupid, nothing like that, but I reckon there is something out there – something from Baskerville, escaped."   
Sherlock isn't really trying to hold back his sceptical snigger. "A clone, a super-dog?" "Maybe. God knows what they’ve been spraying on us all these years, or putting in the water. I wouldn’t trust ’em as far as I could spit."   
"Is that the best you’ve got?"   
Fletcher hesitates for a long moment but eventually he speaks reluctantly, lowering his voice.  
"I had a mate once who worked for the MOD. One weekend we were meant to go fishin’ but he never showed up – well, not ’til late. When he did, he was white as a sheet. I can see him now. “I’ve seen things today, Fletch,” he said, “that I never wanna see again. Terrible things.” He’d been sent to some secret Army place – Porton Down, maybe; maybe Baskerville, or somewhere else." He leans closer.  
"In the labs there – the really secret labs, he said he’d seen...terrible things. Rats as big as dogs, he said, and dogs..."   
He reaches into his bag and pulls something out, showing it to them.   
"...dogs the size of horses."  
He is holding a concrete cast of a dog’s paw print – but the print is at least six inches long from the tip of the claws to the back of the pad.   
"Herregud..." Kristine whispers, setting her almost empty glass down.   
Sherlock stares at it in surprise. John immediately pounces.   
"Er, we did say fifty?"   
As Fletcher smiles triumphantly, Sherlock gets out his wallet and hands John a fifty pound note.  
"Ta."   
Sulkily, Sherlock gets up and walks away. Kristine and John finish their drinks and follow him. 

Sherlock take's them to Baskerville, he's still driving. As they approach the complex, he observes that there are very many military personnel guarding the place, walking the perimeter etc. He drives up to the gates and a military security guard holding a rifle raises a hand. As Sherlock stops the jeep, the man walks around to the driver’s window.   
"Pass, please."   
Sherlock reaches into his coat pocket and hands him a pass.   
"Thank you."   
He walks away with the pass. At the front of the vehicle, another security man encourages a sniffer dog to check the jeep, presumably for explosives.  
"You’ve got ID for Baskerville. How?"   
"It’s not specific to this place. It’s my brother’s. Access all areas. I, um..." he clears his throat "...acquired it ages ago, just in case."   
The security guard swipes Sherlock’s pass through a reader at the gate room. The screen shows a fairly small photograph of Mycroft and names the card holder as Mycroft Holmes, giving him Unlimited Access and showing his security status as ‘Secure (No Threat)’   
"Brilliant." John says, not very convincingly.   
"What’s the matter?"   
"We’ll get caught."   
"No we won’t – well, not just yet."   
"Caught in five minutes. “Oh, hi, we just thought we’d come and have a wander round your top secret weapons base.” “Really? Great! Come in – kettle’s just boiled.” That’s if we don’t get shot."   
The gates begin to slide open as the security guard comes back over to the car.  
"Clear."   
The guard hands Sherlock his pass. "Thank you very much, sir."   
"Thank you."   
He puts the car in gear and eases the vehicle forward.  
"Straight through, sir."   
"Mycroft’s name literally opens doors!"   
"I’ve told you – he practically is the British government. I reckon we’ve got about twenty minutes before they realise something’s wrong."


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

Sherlock drives up to the main complex at Baskerville, parks the car and he and John get out. Kristine moves to join them but Sherlock stops her.   
"What?"  
"Stay with the van."   
"Oh c'mon Sherlock!" She whines, "I'm curious!"   
Sherlock sighs and points a finger at her, "stay. Please, for me."  
Kristine tsked and rolled her eyes, "fine. But you owe me you know."   
She sat back in the jeep, putting her feet up. Sherlock shuts the door. She stuck her tongue out at the back of his head. Taking her iPhone out of her jean pocket she put her headphones on and laid down in the back. Holding her phone horizontally in front of her face she relaxed with the sound of Beethoven while playing Angry Birds. 

After twenty or so minutes they're back at the car. Kristine sits up and takes off her headphones.   
Sherlock pulls his coat tighter around himself, flipping up the collar just as they reach the car. John rolls his eyes and turns to him.  
"Oh, please, can we not do this, this time?"   
"Do what?"   
"You being all mysterious with your cheekbones and turning your coat collar up so you look cool."   
As he turns to go to the car door, Sherlock opens his mouth to speak but is apparently so disconcerted that for a moment he can’t find the words.  
"...I don’t do that."   
"Yeah you do."   
They get into the car. 

 

"So, the email from Kirsty – the, er, missing luminous rabbit."   
"Kirsty Stapleton, whose mother specialises in genetic manipulation."   
"She made her daughter’s rabbit glow in the dark."   
"Probably a fluorescent gene removed and spliced into the specimen. Simple enough these days."   
"So..."  
He looks across to Sherlock and waits for him to continue the sentence.  
"So we know that Doctor Stapleton performs secret genetic experiments on animals. The question is: has she been working on something deadlier than a rabbit?"   
"To be fair, that is quite a wide field."   
Sherlock looks round at John in startled surprise as if realising that that’s true.

 

Sherlock parks outside of Henry's home, it is enormous – a four-storey stone building that was probably a very important property in the area in the past. A large old-fashioned glass conservatory is attached to the rear of the building on the ground floor and a modern two-storey glass extension has been built onto the side of the house to join it to another two-storey stone building nearby. They get out of car, and in old habit, Kristine grabs Sherlock's hand.   
The three of them go into the conservatory, which looks very run-down and clearly hasn’t had a paint job in years, and walk across to the door on the opposite side. Sherlock rings the doorbell and Henry opens the door.  
"Hi."  
"Hi."  
"Come in, come in."   
Wiping his feet on the doormat, Sherlock walks in and heads down the hallway with Kristine still attached to him.   
John follows more slowly, stopping to look into a large high-ceilinged sitting room before following Henry again.   
"This is, uh...Are you, um..."He searches for the right word for a moment before finding it.  
"...rich?"   
"Yeah."  
"Right."   
"Who's your friend? The girl? She's – she's pretty."   
"Uh, Kristine."  
"Is she..."  
"She's seeing someone yes."   
"Oh, okay."  
Henry leads off again. 

 

Not long afterwards, in the kitchen in the glass extension, Sherlock spoons two sugar lumps into his mug and stirs them in. He is sitting on a stool at the central island and John is sitting next to him. Kristine is standing by the island, nibbling on a biscuit.   
Henry is standing at the side of the island gazing down at the work surface.  
"It’s-it’s a couple of words. It’s what I keep seeing. “Liberty”..."   
John reaches into his pocket for his notebook. "Liberty."   
Henry looks up at him. "Liberty" and ..."in." It’s just that."   
He picks up the bottle of milk that’s on the island.   
"Are you finished?"   
"Mm."  
Henry turns around to put the milk into the fridge. John looks at Sherlock.  
"Mean anything to you?"   
""Liberty in death" – isn’t that the expression? The only true freedom."   
John nods in agreement as Henry turns back around, sighing. Sherlock takes a drink from his mug.  
"What now, then?"   
"Sherlock’s got a plan."   
"Yes."   
"Right."  
"We take you back out onto the moor..."  
"Okay..."   
"...and see if anything attacks you."  
The three of them turn to him.   
"What?!"   
"That should bring things to a head."  
"At night? You want me to go out there at night?"   
"Mm."   
That’s your plan?" John snorts laughter. "Brilliant."   
"Got any better ideas?"   
"That’s not a plan."   
"Listen, if there is a monster out there, John, there’s only one thing to do: find out where it lives."   
He looks round to Henry and smiles widely at him before taking another drink from his mug. Henry does not look encouraged by this. 

As night begins to fall, Henry leads Sherlock, Kristine and John across the rocks towards Dewer’s Hollow. All four of them have flashlights to light the uneven ground below their feet. Kristine is close to Sherlock, he looks down at her, "be careful Kristine, you rely on your feet for a living."   
Kristine throws Sherlock a dark look, yet she grabs onto his hand, interlocking their fingers. John noted that this was the second tile she's grabbed his hand in the span of a few hours, Sherlock even encourages it, holding her hand tighter, despite knowing she's with someone else. 

 

By the time they reach the woods it is almost full dark and it becomes even darker when they head into the trees. John, bringing up the rear, hears rustling to his right and turns around to look. The other three don’t notice and continue onwards while John walks cautiously towards the sound he heard. He shines his torch into the bushes as an owl shrieks overhead, but he can see nothing. Raising his head he sees a light repeatedly winking on and off at the top of a hillside a fair distance away. He looks around to alert his friends.   
"Sher..."   
It’s only then that he realises that the other three have disappeared out of sight. He shines his flashlight in the direction they went but there’s no sign of them. 

The three of them are a long way ahead and Henry’s torch shows that they’re at the edge of the minefield with its fencing and warning signs. They make their way along the edge of the fencing while John trails a long way behind them, still whispering their names.   
"Sherlock...Kristine..."   
Up ahead, Sherlock breaks the silence.  
"Met a friend of yours."   
"What?"!  
"Doctor Frankland."   
"Oh, right. Bob, yeah."   
"Seems pretty concerned about you."   
"He’s a worrier, bless him. He’s been very kind to me since I came back."   
"He knew your father."  
"Yeah."  
"But he works at Baskerville. Didn’t your dad have a problem with that?"   
"Well, mates are mates, aren’t they? I mean, look at you and John."   
"What about us?"   
"Well, I mean, he’s a pretty straightforward bloke, and you..."   
Glancing back at Sherlock’s grim expression, he decides not to follow that line.  
"They agreed never to talk about work, Uncle Bob and my dad."   
He stops and turns to his left. As Sherlock stops and looks at him, Henry nods in the direction he’s looking.  
"Dewer’s Hollow." Henry says, rather unhappily.   
Sherlock turns and looks at the steep drop in the land that leads down into a misty dark valley.  
Some distance behind them, John is still following their trail.  
"Sherlock..."   
As he progresses onwards, he hears an eerie metallic thrumming sound. He stops and aims his flashlight in the direction of the sound, then goes to move onwards just as the thrum sounds again. The sound continues to repeat, now interspersed with short metallic pings. John walks slowly towards the sound, then quietly chuckles when he sees a rusty metal container, possibly an oil drum, which is lying in the undergrowth. Water is dripping from the tree above it and causing the thrums and pings as it strikes the drum. Just as John looks at it and sighs with relief, something massive flashes past behind him. John spins and looks but it’s already gone, but a couple of seconds later an anguished animalistic howl sounds in the distance. John turns and begins to hurry to find the others.   
Sherlock is heading down into the Hollow,  
being careful to keep his balance on the steep slippery ground, using some of his body weight to keep Kristine balanced as well. Henry follows him down more slowly. Sherlock reaches the bottom and shines his torch around, finding giant paw prints all around the area. Some distance away, John is now running to get to the others. Another long anguished howl rings out. Still halfway down the slope, Henry pauses. Kristine grabs Sherlock's arm with her other hand.   
"What was that?" Sherlock shines his torch up in the direction of the sound...and his face begins to fill with horror at the sight which greets him. Kristine lets out a squeak of horror as the creature growls savagely from the top of the Hollow. As the beam from Sherlock’s flashlight flails along the Hollow’s rim, the whatever-it-is has already retreated. Sherlock recoils, his face confused and bewildered as he tries to take in what he just saw. From his position some distance away, Henry hurries down to join him.  
"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Did you see it?"  
Sherlock lowers his head, still unable to get his mind to accept the evidence of his eyes. He stares around, shaking his head, then shoves Henry out of his way and hurries back up the hillside. Kristine places a hand on Henry's arm and they follow him.  
Very shortly afterwards, John finally meets up with the other two making their way back.  
"Did you hear that?"   
Sherlock storms straight past him. John turns and follows.  
"We saw it. We saw it."   
"No. I didn’t see anything."   
"Sherlock, Jeg sto rett ved siden av deg." Kristine says, trying to keep up with him, "du så det også."   
"What? What are you talking about?"   
"I didn’t. See. Anything."   
He hurries onwards with Henry, Kristine and John trailing along behind him. 

Some time later at Henry’s house, Henry, Kristine and John hurry indoors. Sherlock isn’t with them.  
"Look, he must have seen it. I saw it – he must have. He must have. I can’t ... Why? Why?"   
He stops in the doorway of the sitting room, turning back to John in anguish.  
"Why would he say that? It-it-it-it-it was there. It was."   
Taking off his gloves, John ushers him across to the sofa.  
"Henry, Henry, I need you to sit down, try and relax, please."   
"I’m okay, I’m okay."   
"Listen, I’m gonna give you something to help you sleep, all right?"   
He looks around the room and sees a bottle of water on a bureau nearby. He goes over to get it, while Henry unwraps his scarf from his neck, smiling.  
"This is good news. It’s-it’s-it’s good. I’m not crazy. There is a hound; there...there is. And Sherlock – he saw it too. No matter what he said, he saw it." 

Later, Sherlock is back at the inn. Sitting in an armchair by a roaring open fire, his face is still full of shock and disbelief. Unaware of his distress, other patrons sit at nearby tables having their evening meal. John and Kristine come in and sits down in the armchairs on the other side of the fire.  
"Well, he is in a pretty bad way. He’s manic, totally convinced there’s some mutant super-dog roaming the moors."   
With his hands in the prayer position in front of his mouth, Sherlock glances nervously at John for a moment, then continues to gaze in the direction of the fire, lost in thought.  
"And there isn’t, though, is there? ’Cause if people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we’d know."   
Sherlock clasps his fingers together, closing his eyes and breathing heavily as if trying to fend off a panic attack. Kristine clearly notices and gets out of her chair, kneeling beside him, placing her hand on his arm.   
"Are you alright?" She whispered, John continues on.   
"They’d be for sale. I mean, that’s how it works."   
He remembers something and reaches for his notebook.  
"Er, listen: er, on the moor I saw someone signalling. Er, Morse – I guess it’s Morse."   
Sherlock blinks rapidly and repeatedly.  
"Doesn’t seem to make much sense."   
"John shut up." Kristine tells him firmly, Sherlock pulls in a sharp breath through his nose and then blows the breath out again through his mouth.   
"Er, U, M, Q, R, A. Does that mean...anything..."  
"John!"   
He finally realises how distressed his colleague is looking and pauses for a moment. He puts his notebook away and sits back in his chair.  
"So, okay, what have we got? We know there’s footprints, ’cause Henry found them; so did the tour guide bloke. We all heard something."   
Sherlock blows out another shaky breath. John looks across to him and frowns momentarily.  
"Maybe we should just look for whoever’s got a big dog."   
"They're right."   
"What?"   
"I saw it too." Sherlock says, voice shaking.   
"What?"   
"I saw it too, John."  
"Just...just a minute." He sits forward. "You saw what?"   
Sherlock finally meets his gaze but his face is twisted with self-loathing as he forces himself to admit the truth.  
"A hound, out there in the Hollow." He talks through gritted teeth. "A gigantic hound."   
John almost laughs as Sherlock looks away, trying unsuccessfully to blink back tears. Kristine looks at him with concern and moves to sit on his knee. "Shh, det er greit." She brushed a few curls off of his forehead.   
John sits back in his chair again, not quite able to cope with this strange reaction from his friend.   
"Um, look, Sherlock, we have to be rational about this, okay? Now you, of all people, can’t just..."   
Sherlock blows out another breath.  
"Let’s just stick to what we know, yes? Stick to the facts."  
Sherlock looks round at him.   
"Once you’ve ruled out the impossible, whatever remains – however improbable – must be true."   
"What does that mean?"   
Looking away again, Sherlock reaches down and picks up a drink from a nearby table. Looking down at his trembling hand, he sniggers. "Look at me. I’m afraid. Afraid."   
He takes a drink and then holds up the glass again, his hand still shaking.  
"Sherlock?"   
"Always been able to keep myself distant..." he takes another drink from the glass, "divorce myself from...most feelings. But look, you see..."   
He holds up the glass and glares at his shaking hand.  
"...body’s betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions." Kristine takes the glass from him, setting it down on the table. "The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment."   
"What's wrong with me Kristine?"  
"Nothing, kjæreste. Your in shock, it's a perfectly normal response."   
Sherlock blows out a few more breaths and still failing to bring himself under control. He glances panic-stricken at John.   
"You’ve been pretty wired lately, you know you have. I think you’ve just gone out there and got yourself a bit worked up."   
"Worked...up?"   
"It was dark and scary..."   
"Me?! There’s nothing wrong with me."   
He looks away, almost beginning to hyperventilate, then puts his fingertips to his temples, groaning in anguish. John looks at him in concern. Kristine seems at a loss of what to do, she's never seen Sherlock like this, she's never seen him so...scared and afraid.   
"Sherlock..."   
Sherlock begins blowing out breaths again, his fingers trembling against his skin.  
"Sher..."   
"THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME!" He yells furiously. He glares round at John. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"  
He looks round at the other patrons, all of whom are now staring at him. He looks away again, then looks at John.  
"You want me to prove it, yes?"   
He pulls in a deep breath, trying to get himself under control.  
"We’re looking for a dog, yes, a great big dog, that’s your brilliant theory. Cherchez le chien. Good, excellent, yes, where shall we start?" The patrons have gone back to their eating."  
Sherlock looks over his shoulder and points towards a man and woman sitting opposite each other at a table in the corner of the restaurant. His voice becomes savage and relentless as he goes into deduction mode.  
"How about them? The sentimental widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman. The answer’s yes."   
"Yes?"  
"She’s got a West Highland terrier called Whisky. Not exactly what we’re looking for."   
"Oh, Sherlock, for God’s sake..."   
Sherlock looks briefly across at the man and his jumper with reindeer and holly leaves knitted into it before turning away again.  
"Look at the jumper he’s wearing. Hardly worn. Clearly he’s uncomfortable in it. Maybe it’s because of the material; more likely the hideous pattern, suggesting it’s a present, probably Christmas. So he wants into his mother’s good books. Why? Almost certainly money."  
He takes another quick glance at the man.  
"He’s treating her to a meal but his own portion is small. That means he wants to impress her, but he’s trying to economise on his own food."  
"Well, maybe he’s just not hungry."  
His quick fire pace becomes almost frantic.   
"No, small plate. Starter. He’s practically licked it clean. She’s nearly finished her pavlova. If she’d treated him, he’d have had as much as he wanted. He’s hungry all right, and not well-off – you can tell that by the state of his cuffs and shoes."'  
He asks the question he’s expecting to come from John at any moment.  
""How d’you know she’s his mother?""   
John, who until now has been looking at his colleague with concern as Sherlock’s voice – while lowered – has become increasingly intense, smiles briefly.  
"Who else would give him a Christmas present like that? Well, it could be an aunt or an elder sister, but mother’s more likely. Now, he was a fisherman. Scarring pattern on his hands, very distinctive – fish hooks. They’re all quite old now, which suggests he’s been unemployed for some time. Not much industry in this part of the world, so he’s turned to his widowed mother for help. “Widowed?” Yes, obviously. She’s got a man’s wedding ring on a chain round her neck – clearly her late husband’s and too big for her finger. She’s well-dressed but her jewellery’s cheap. She could afford better, but she’s kept it – it’s sentimental. Now, the dog..." he looks at the thick wiry hairs on the lower part of the woman’s black trousers, "...tiny little hairs all over the leg from where it gets a little bit too friendly, but no hairs above the knees, suggesting it’s a small dog, probably a terrier. In fact it is – a West Highland terrier called Whisky. “How the hell do you know that, Sherlock?” ’Cause she was on the same train as us and I heard her calling its name and that’s not cheating, that’s listening. I use my senses, John, unlike some people, so you see, I am fine, in fact I’ve never been better, so just Leave. Me. Alone."   
He glares at John, who stares back at him in shock.   
"Yeah."   
He clears his throat.  
"Okay. Okay."   
Distressed by his colleague’s venom, he gets up and walks away.   
He looks at Kristine with anguish, looking into her sea coloured eyes, "beklager."   
"Nothing to be sorry for." She whispers, stroking his hair.   
"I should've handled that better...I should've..."   
"Shhh, you handled it the only way you know how." She ran her fingers through his hair in a comforting way.   
"Why do you still put up with me?" He asks, putting his head on her shoulder.   
"Because...well because I think I'd be lost without you."   
He looks up at her, "what do you mean? I'm sure you'd do just fine."   
Kristine ran her finger along his cheekbone in a soothing motion. "No, I'd definitely be lost."


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

Sherlock is walking back through the village but stops when he sees John and Kristine in the church graveyard, sitting on the steps of a war memorial and looking through the notes in John's notebook. Sherlock goes through the gate and walks along the path towards them. They look up as they him approach. John's expression becomes uncomfortable as he tucks his notebook into his pocket. Grimacing briefly, Sherlock stops in front of him, also looking awkward. Kristine stood up and walked over to him, taking a hand from her pocket she offers it too him, he takes it and looks back at John.   
"Did you, er, get anywhere with that Morse code?"   
He steps down. "No."   
He starts to walk away.  
"U, M, Q, R, A, wasn't it?"   
John keeps walking and Sherlock follows along behind him with Kristine in tow. He voices the initials as a word. "UMQRA."   
"Nothing."   
In Sherlock's mind, he puts full stops in between the letters but still voices it as a word.   
"U.M.Q..."   
"Look, forget it. It's...I thought I was on to something. I wasn't."   
"Sure?"   
"Yeah."   
"How about Louise Mortimer? Did you get anywhere with her?"   
"No."   
"Too bad. Did you get any information?"  
John smiles briefly and glances over his shoulder but still keeps walking.  
"You being funny now?"   
"Thought it might break the ice a bit."   
"Funny doesn't suit you. I'd stick to ice."   
Sherlock looks at John's retreating back, his face full of pain.  
"John..."   
"It's fine."   
"No, wait. What happened last night...something happened to me; something I've not really experienced before..."   
"Yes, you said: fear. Sherlock Holmes got scared. You said."   
Sherlock catches him up, takes hold of his arm and pulls him round to face him.  
"No-no-no, it was more than that, John. It was doubt. I felt doubt. I've always been able to trust my senses, the evidence of my own eyes, until last night."  
"You can't actually believe that you saw some kind of monster."   
"No, I can't believe that." He grins bitterly for a moment. "But I did see it, so the question is: how? How?"   
"Yes. Yeah, right, good. So you've got something to go on, then? Good luck with that."   
He turns and starts to walk away again. Sherlock turns and calls after him.   
Kristine places a hand on his arm and walks quickly over to John, she stops him and pulls him down a little to whisper something in his ear.   
"Alright, alright fine."   
Sherlock looks down, then instantly raises his head again and his eyes begin to flicker in realisation of something.   
"John!" He jogs up to them.   
"You are amazing! You are fantastic!"   
Yes, alright! You don't have to overdo it." John continues walking again, Sherlock grabs Kristine's hand and pulls her along.   
They catch up to John, Sherlock lets go of Kristine to walk in front of them, backwards. "You've never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable."   
"Cheers...what?"   
Sherlock turns round and walks beside him, taking out his own notebook and starting to write in it.   
"Some people who aren't geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others."   
"Hang on – you were saying "Sorry" a minute ago. Don't spoil it. Go on: what have I done that's so bloody stimulating?"   
Sherlock stops just outside the pub door and turns back to the two, showing what he has just written in his notebook: HOUND.   
"Yeah?"   
Sherlock pulls the notebook back and writing in it again. "But what if it's not a word? What if it is individual letters?"   
He shows them the page of the notebook again, which now reads: H.O.U.N.D.   
"You think it's an acronym?"   
Sherlock puts his notebook away. "Absolutely no idea but..."   
He turns towards the pub door and trails off when he sees a familiar figure standing inside at the bar. Wearing grey trousers and a grey shirt with a light jacket over the top, heavily suntanned and with sunglasses on, Detective Lestrade has his hands in his trouser pockets and is looking the absolute epitome of casual. Sherlock storms into the pub.   
"What the hell are you doing here?"   
"Well, nice to see you too. I'm on holiday, would you believe?"   
"No, I wouldn't."   
Lestrade takes off his sunglasses as John walks over to the bar. "Hello, John."   
"Greg."  
"Hello Kristine."   
"Hi."   
"I heard you were in the area. What are you up to? You after this Hound of Hell like on the telly?"   
"I'm waiting for an explanation, Inspector. Why are you here?"  
"I've told you: I'm on holiday."   
"You're brown as a nut. You're clearly just back from your 'holidays.'"   
"Yeah, well I fancied another one."   
"Oh, this is Mycroft, isn't it?"   
"No, look..."  
"Of course it is! One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to ... to spy on me incognito. Is that why you're calling yourself Greg?"   
"That's his name." Kristine and John say simultaneously.   
Sherlock frowns. "Is it?"   
"Yes – if you'd ever bothered to find out. Look, I'm not your handler..." he turns away to pick up his pint from the bar "...and I don't just do what your brother tells me."   
"Actually, you could be just the man we want."   
"Why?"   
"Well, I've not been idle, Sherlock." John rummages in his trouser pocket. "I think I might have found something."   
He shows Sherlock the sales invoice from Undershaw Meat Supplies which he stole off the bar while he was checking in.  
"Here. Didn't know if it was relevant; starting to look like it might be. That is an awful lot of meat for a vegetarian restaurant."   
"Excellent."   
"Nice scary inspector from Scotland Yard who can put in a few calls might come in very handy." He says to Lestrade.   
Sherlock and Lestrade exchange a look, and John slaps his hand down on the bell on top of the bar.  
"Shop!" 

Later, in the small Snug next to the bar, Greg is sitting at a table looking through paperwork – presumably previous invoices from Undershaw – while Gary the manager and Billy the chef sit at the other side of the table looking at him anxiously. Nearby, Sherlock has poured two  
cups of coffee from a filter machine and is stirring it. Kristine is watching him, eating a bag of crisps she picked up, she noticed that he put sugar in both of them.   
"John doesn't take sugar."   
"Oh, I forgot." He ostentatiously taps the drips off the spoon into the cup and then picks up one cup and hands it to Kristine.   
"Thanks."   
He smiles and takes the second and its saucer, carrying them over to John, offering them to him.   
"What's this?"   
"Coffee. I made coffee."  
"You never make coffee...for me anyway."   
"Don't you want it?"   
"You don't have to keep apologising."   
Sherlock looks away with a hurt expression on his face. John relents and takes the cup and saucer.   
"Thanks."   
Sherlock smiles happily. John lifts the cup to his mouth, takes a mouthful and grimaces.  
"Mm. I don't take sugar..."   
The hurt expression comes back onto Sherlock's face as he looks away again. He's like a puppy whose owner has just told him off for chewing his slippers. John looks at his face and feels that he has no choice but to take a longer drink from the cup.   
"These records go back nearly two months."   
Grimacing at the taste, John puts the cup back into the saucer and looks at Sherlock.   
"That's nice. That's good."  
He turns away to put the drink down on a nearby mantelpiece while Lestrade continues interrogating Gary and Billy.   
"Is that when you had the idea, after the TV show went out?"   
"It's me. It was me." He turns to his partner. "I'm sorry, Gary – I couldn't help it. I had a bacon sandwich at Cal's wedding and one thing just led to another..."  
Sherlock grins behind him. Lestrade is equally disbelieving.  
"Nice try."   
"Look, we were just trying to give things a bit of a boost, you know? A great big dog run wild up on the moor – it was heaven-sent. It was like us having our own Loch Ness Monster."   
"Where do you keep it?"  
"There's an old mineshaft. It's not too far. It was all right there."   
""Was"?"   
"We couldn't control the bloody thing. It was vicious." He sighs again. "And then, a month ago, Billy took him to the vet and, er...you know."  
"It's dead?"   
"Put down."   
"Yeah. No choice. So it's over."   
"It was just a joke, you know?"   
"Yeah, hilarious." Lestrade stands up and looks down at them angrily.  
"You've nearly driven a man out of his mind."   
He walks out of the room. John follows him. Sherlock watches him go, then peers into John's coffee cup before grabbing Kristine and following. John follows Lestrade across the bar and out of the pub. 

"Asperger's?"   
Sherlock comes out of the pub with the blonde and glowers at John, having heard the last word.   
"So, you believe him about having the dog destroyed?"   
"No reason not to."   
"Well, hopefully there's no harm done. Not quite sure what I'd charge him with anyway. I'll have a word with the local Force."   
He nods to the boys.  
"Right, that's that, then. Catch you later." He smiles. "I'm enjoying this! It's nice to get London out of your lungs!"   
John watches him walk away, then turns to Sherlock.   
"So that was their dog that people saw out on the moor?"   
"Looks like it."   
"But that wasn't what you saw. That wasn't just an ordinary dog."   
"No."His gaze become distant. "It was immense, had burning red eyes and it was glowing, John. Its whole body was glowing."   
He shudders, shaking off the memory, then turns and walks towards the car park.   
"I've got a theory but I need to get back into Baskerville to test it."   
"How? Can't pull off the ID trick again."   
"Might not have to."   
He has just taken out his phone and hit a speed dial and now he lifts the phone to his ear.  
"Hello, brother dear. How are you?" 

 

At the entrance gates, the Land Rover approaches and stops. An armed security man goes over to Sherlock's side while the dog handler and sniffer dog also approach. "Afternoon, sir. If you could turn the engine off."   
Sherlock hands over his ID pass and switches the car off.  
"Thank you."   
As he goes over to the gate room to swipe the card and other soldiers check the vehicle over from the outside, Sherlock speaks quietly to John.  
"I need to see Major Barrymore as soon as we get inside."   
"Right."   
"Which means you'll have to start the search for the hound."   
"Okay."   
"In the labs; Stapleton's first."   
The guard brings back the ID card and hands it over.  
"Could be dangerous."   
"Can I come with you? Or are you just going  
to leave me in the car again?"   
"You can come this time, Kristine. You'll go with John."   
"Okay."   
The gate slides open and Sherlock starts the car and drives onto the base. 

The lift doors open into the first lab that the boys previously visited but this time Kristine and John come out of the elevator. "Everything is so white and nice down here."   
Walking forward he sees that there are only two scientists in the room and they are now leaving through a side door. One of them turns off the main overhead lights as he goes, which leaves the room lit far more dimly by a few arc lights on stands which are dotted around, and by the screens of some computers. Kristine looks around a little anxiously when she realises how spooky and quiet it is, then she walks to stand beside John who walks towards a door at the far end of the lab, the door which Doctor Frankland came out of on the first occasion that they met him. He has a security pass in his pocket and he takes it out and swipes it through the reader, then pulls the door open and goes inside, having apparently ignored handwritten notice stuck on the outside which reads: 

KEEP OUT   
UNLESS YOU WANT   
A COLD! 

Kristine follows him before the door shuts.  
They walk through the decontamination zone to the door at the far end and John taps a finger on the glass window in the door. When nobody replies he pushes the door open and goes into a room which has a glass-walled section on the left hand side. There's a glass-fronted cage inside the sealed section but there doesn't appear to be anything inside. In front of him is a desk with equipment, folders, a phone and various other things on it, and above the desk are small plastic tubes coming out of the wall and dials which indicate that these tubes dispense various gases. John opens the door of a small cupboard set into the desk but finds nothing of interest and so continues looking around. Kristine is doing some snooping around of her own, some distance away from John. On the right hand side of the room are large metal pipes which presumably also carry gases. One of them is leaking slightly.   
John peers around a little longer and then comes out of the room and goes back through the decontamination zone and into the lab. Just to his right is a large arc light on a stand. As John turns to his right to close the door behind him, the device lights up and nine bright bulbs shine straight into his eyes. He squinches his eyes shut and turns his head away, grimacing at the pain.   
"Oh, no! Jesus! Ow!"   
"John? Are you okay?" Kristine follows him into the room, grimacing at the bright lights.   
Opening his eyes a little, he squints and tries to see into the room. All the other lights in the room appear to have come on as well and – with his own vision blanked out by the arc lights – there's a wall of whiteness all around him. Just then a loud insistent alarm begins to blare into the room. The two groan and cover their ears completely overwhelmed by the bright light, lack of vision and the noise. Grimacing, John starts to make his way across the lab towards the lift, holding his hand up in front of his eyes as the after-image of the arc lights keeps blanking out his vision. Finally reaching the other end of the lab, he pulls out the ID card and swipes it through the reader. It whines and tells him "ACCESS DENIED". He stares in disbelief and swipes the card again but it whines and gives him the same message. Holding one hand to an ear while the alarm continues to blare, he tries once more.   
"Come on."   
The same whine and message is repeated. John glares at it in exasperation – and at that moment all the lights go out and the alarm drones into silence. The room is now under emergency lighting only, which is dark red and barely illuminates the area.   
"What the f...?"   
He scrabbles in his pocket for his flashlight and switches it on, although its beam isn't very helpful against the continued after-image of the arc lights which is still affecting his retinas. He calls out.   
"Kristine?"   
"Over here." She screws her eyes shut for a moment in a failed attempt to clear the after-images. As she opens his eyes again and peers through the bright dots, a shadow seems to flicker across the room some distance away.   
"What was that? John!"   
John blinks and looks around the room, the after-images still frustrating his ability to see anything clearly. He lowers his head into his hand and rubs his eyes for a few seconds, then raises his head again, realising how ominously quiet it now is in the lab. But that doesn't last long, because something rattles to his right. He walks forward cautiously, looking a little anxiously at the row of large cages which he now realises are all covered with sheeting which obscures their contents. The rattle sounds again. Kristine attaches herself to John and they walk slowly to the first of the cages, turning once to check behind him, then grabs hold of the sheeting and pulls it back to show that the first cage is empty. Pulling the sheet back down again, he walks to the next cage as something clinks near the lift doors. He swings around to look and shines his torch in that direction but can see nothing. He turns again and grabs the sheet over the second cage, tossing that back. Again the cage is empty, and the door is open. He moves on to the third cage and throws back the sheet. The monkey inside hurls itself towards him, screaming as it grabs at the bars. John drops the sheet and stumbles back several paces, almost knocking Kristine over, he's breathing heavily.   
"Watch it!"  
"Sorry."   
He walks to the final cage and looks at it, then slowly his gaze is pulled down to the bottom of the bars where the sheeting has been pushed back a little. The door of the cage is slightly ajar and the bottom of it has been bent back by something which must be incredibly strong. As John stares at the bent bars in disbelief, a low savage growl sounds behind them. Kristine spins them around, her eyes going wide as John shines his flashlight around but he can see nothing. He sees the nearby door to the Cold Lab and walks briskly over to it, taking out his ID card and swiping it. The reader whines its ACCESS DENIED alert.   
"No, come on, come on."   
He swipes the card again. Again it refuses to open the door. He stares in anguish, then pulls his mobile out of his pocket while shining his light around the room. He hits the speed dial and holds the phone to his ear as it begins to ring out and continues to ring.   
"No, you...don't be ridiculous, pick up."   
Eventually he gives up and switches off the phone.  
"Oh, dammit!"   
Putting the phone back in his pocket he looks across the room determinedly.   
"Right."   
Trying to shine his torch in all directions at once and making his way cautiously around all the workstations and islands, the pair hurry as quickly as they can towards the side door through which the scientists left earlier. As he goes, the distinctive sound of claws on floor tiles skitters across the room.   
"What is that?" Kristine whispers.   
"Oh sh..."   
Ducking low, he hurries to the door and takes out his card again.   
"Okay..."   
As he reaches towards the card reader, the claws trot across the floor to his right, and then something snarls. John turns and stares, breathing heavily, as there are more sounds nearby – claws on the floor tiles, equipment being pushed aside, and then a deep ominous growl. John shoves the card back into his pocket and then claps his hand over his mouth to dampen his own panicked breathing while the growl rumbles on. As the growl finally falls silent, John makes a break for it, holding Kristine's hand and races across the room, running towards the cages and pulling open the door of one of the empty ones before scrambling both of them inside, slamming the door shut and bolting it and then reaching through the bars and pulling the sheet down over the cage. Elsewhere in the lab, the whatever-it-is snarls as Kristine retreats from the door and squats down at the back of the cage, wrapping her hand around her mouth, trying not to sob as the creature growls again. John tries to comfort her, "it'll be fine," he whispers, "its going to be okay."  
She nods frantically, sniffing as a tear escapes her eye.   
Suddenly John's phone starts to ring. He scrabbles in his pocket to retrieve it. He answers it on the second ring and holds it up towards his mouth. He keeps his voice as soft as he possibly can but even at such a low volume his terror is evident.   
"It's here. It's in here with us."   
Kristine could hear Sherlock's voice over the phone. "Where are you?"   
"Get us out, Sherlock. You have got to get us out. The big lab: the first lab that we saw."   
He breathes heavily. Outside, the creature growls. Kristine holds back as sob, trying to remain as still as possible.   
John whines loudly in terror and claps his hand over his mouth again.   
"John? John?" Sherlock's voice asks.   
John lowers his hand and keeping his voice no more than a whisper. "Now, Sherlock. Please."   
"Alright, I'll find you. Keep talking."   
"I can't. It'll hear me."   
"Keep talking. What are you seeing?"   
Throughout the conversation John has been peering through the small gap in the sheeting but the room is so dimly lit that he hasn't been able to see anything.  
"John?"   
The creature snarls again.  
"Yes, I'm here."   
"What can you see?"   
Getting onto his knees, John crawls closer to the gap in the sheeting, trying to keep his terrified breathing under control.   
"I don't know. I don't know, but I can hear it, though."   
The creature growls loudly.   
"John..." Kristine whines, moving away from the back of the cage, closer to him.   
"Did you hear that?"   
"Stay calm, stay calm. Can you see it?"   
John peers into the gloom.   
"Can you see it?" Sherlock asks again.   
"No. I can..."   
He trails off, then slowly straightens up, retreats backwards and sits back against the side bars while his face fills with absolute horror.   
"I can see it."   
He stares ahead of himself, his eyes full of dread as a shadow begins to move on the other side of the sheeting.   
"It's here."   
The shadow moves closer as the creature growls once more.  
"It's here."   
The shadow moves closer...and then the sheeting is tugged upwards and the lights come on in the lab at the same moment that Sherlock's face appears on the other side of the cage, looking down anxiously at John as he pulls open the door and goes inside. But his priorities quickly shift when he sees Kristine, crumpled up with fear.   
"Are you alright?"   
She nods and practically throws herself at Sherlock, he wraps his arms around her as she buries her face in his shoulder, shaking almost violently.   
John leaves the cage and speaks, still breathless and panic-stricken. "It was the hound, Sherlock. It was here. I swear it, Sherlock. It must..."   
He looks around the lab which – now fully illuminated – shows that there's nowhere that a large monster can be hiding.  
"It must..."   
His voice becomes high-pitched.   
"Did...did...did you see it? You must have!"   
Sherlock holds out a placatory hand towards him, still holding Kristine with his other arm as she clings to him, both have left the cage.   
"It's alright. It's okay now."  
John yells, high-pitched, frantic and hysterical. "NO IT'S NOT! IT'S NOT OKAY! I saw it. I was wrong!"   
Sherlock shrugs while John breathes heavily.  
"Well, let's not jump to conclusions."   
"What?"   
"What did you see?"   
"I told you: I saw the hound."   
"Huge; red eyes?"   
"Yes."   
"Glowing?"   
"Yeah."   
"No."   
"What?"   
"I made up the bit about glowing. You saw what you expected to see because I told you. You have been drugged. We have all been drugged."   
"Drugged?"   
"What?"   
"Can you walk?"   
"'Course I can walk."   
"Come on, then. It's time to lay this ghost."   
He turns and heads for the door with Kristine.   
Still trying to catch his breath, John looks around the lab again, then stumbles after Sherlock. 

In a small room full of cages, Doctor Stapleton is examining a fluffy white rabbit on a metal table. She looks up when Sherlock comes through the door with a short woman, followed by John.   
"Oh. Back again? What's on your mind this time?"   
"Murder, Doctor Stapleton. Refined, cold-blooded murder."   
He reaches back and turns off the light switch by the door. The limited lighting coming from the window at the end of the room is just enough to show that the rabbit is glowing a bright green. Sherlock turns the lights back on.   
"Will you tell little Kirsty what happened to Bluebell or shall I?"   
He smiles unpleasantly at her. She sighs.  
"Okay. What do you want?"   
"Can I borrow your microscope?"


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

In a larger lab, Sherlock has taken off his coat and is sitting at a bench and gazing into a microscope. Unhappy with what he's seeing, he turns away from the 'scope and crushes something which looks crystalline into smaller pieces with a little hammer. Time passes and he varies between sitting with his back to the microscope, his hands folded in the prayer position in front of him while he thinks, or gazing into the 'scope, or scribbling chemical formulae onto the desk with different coloured marker pens. Nearby, John sits on a stool with his head propped on his hand, gazing blankly into space. Doctor Stapleton is standing near him. Kristine is curled up on a bench, cheek pressed against her knee. Mulling over what happened in the lab, she cant seem to come to terms with it. How did they see the hound in the lab? None of it made any sense in her mind. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" Doctor Stapleton asks.   
John looks up at her, blinking.  
"You look very peaky."   
"No, I'm alright."   
"It was the GFP gene from a jellyfish, in case you're interested."   
"What?"   
"In the rabbits."   
"Mm, right, yes."   
"Aequoria Victoria, if you really want to know." She says proudly.  
John looks up at her.  
"Why?"   
"Why not? We don't ask questions like that here. It isn't done."  
A short distance from them, Sherlock looks increasingly irritated as he picks up another slide and puts it under the microscope.   
"There was a mix-up, anyway. My daughter ended up with one of the lab specimens, so poor Bluebell had to go."   
"Your compassion's overwhelming." John says cynically.   
"I know. I hate myself sometimes."   
"So, come on then. You can trust me – I'm a doctor. What else have you got hidden away up here?"   
Exasperated, Sherlock takes out the slide again. Doctor Stapleton sighs.   
"Listen: if you can imagine it, someone is probably doing it somewhere. Of course they are."   
Sherlock is staring intently at his latest slide, then his eyes slide across to a nearby read-out on a screen.   
"And cloning?"   
"Yes, of course. Dolly the Sheep, remember?"   
"Human cloning?"   
"Why not?"   
"What about animals? Not sheep...big animals."   
"Size isn't a problem, not at all. The only limits are ethics and the law, and both those things can be...very flexible. But not here – not at Baskerville."   
Furious, Sherlock stands up, snatches the latest slide out from under the 'scope and hurls it against the nearest wall. Kristine cringes at the sudden outburst.   
"It's not there!" Sherlock yells, completely livid at his lack of findings.  
"Jesus!"   
"Nothing there! Doesn't make any sense."   
"What were you expecting to find?"   
"A drug, of course. There has to be a drug – a hallucinogenic or a deliriant of some kind. There's no trace of anything in the sugar."   
"Sugar?"  
"The sugar, yes. It's a simple process of elimination. I saw the hound – saw it as my imagination expected me to see it: a genetically engineered monster. But I knew I couldn't believe the evidence of my own eyes, so there were seven possible reasons for it, the most possible being narcotics. Henry Knight – he saw it, Kristine saw it too but you didn't, John. You didn't see it. Now, we have eaten and drunk exactly the same things since we got to Grimpen apart from one thing: you don't take sugar in your coffee." He points at John.   
"I see. So..."  
"I took it from Henry's kitchen – his sugar." He glares down at the microscope. "It's perfectly alright."   
"But maybe it's not a drug."  
"No, it has to be a drug."   
He has sat on the stool with his head buried in his hands. Now he lowers his hands a little but keeps his head bowed and his eyes closed.   
"But how did it get into our systems. How?"   
Slowly he begins to raise his head, still keeping his eyes closed.   
"There has to be something..." He turns his head repeatedly as he tries to follow the words inside his head. "...something...ah, something..."   
His eyes open.  
"...something buried deep."   
Taking a sharp breath through his nose, he turns and points imperiously at Doctor Stapleton.   
"Get out."   
"What?"   
"Get out. I need to go to my mind palace."   
John sags on his seat with an "Oh, not again" look.   
"Your what?"   
Sherlock has already turned his head away again and is staring ahead of himself. John stands up and picks up his jacket.   
"He's not gonna be doing much talking for a while. We may as well go." He stands Kristine up but she swats at him, "'m fine." She insists, walking towards the door.   
Sherlock is breathing deeply, focusing his thoughts. Stapleton follows John as he heads for the door.   
"His what?"   
"Oh, his mind palace. It's a memory technique – a sort of mental map. You plot a map with a location – it doesn't have to be a real place – and then you deposit memories there that ... Theoretically, you can never forget anything; all you have to do is find your way back to it." "So this imaginary location can be anything – a house or a street."   
"Yeah."   
"But he said "palace." He said it was a palace."   
John looks back towards Sherlock for a moment. "Yeah, well, he would, wouldn't he?"   
He leads her out of the room. 

 

Doctor Stapleton leads the three of them along a corridor and uses her card to swipe them into a large room which has Major Barrymore's office in the corner. As they go into the room, Sherlock points back to the door they just came through.   
"John, stay with Kristine."   
"Yeah, I'm on it."   
John turns to touch Kristine but she defects again, wrapping her arms around herself. "I said 'm fine." She just stares at Sherlock who goes about the room.   
John turns back to keep an eye on the door while Doctor Stapleton goes over to sit down at a computer.   
"Project HOUND. Must have read about it and stored it away. An experiment in a CIA facility in Liberty, Indiana."   
He stands behind Doctor Stapleton while she types her User ID onto the computer, then adds her password. A request to "Enter Search String" comes up and she looks up at Sherlock who dictates the letters.   
"H, O, U, N, D."   
She types in the letters and hits Enter. A message comes up saying "NO ACCESS. CIA Classified" and requesting an authorisation code.  
"That's as far as my access goes, I'm afraid." "Well, there must be an override and password."   
"I imagine so, but that'd be Major Barrymore's."   
Sherlock spins around and walks into Barrymore's office.   
"Password, password, password."   
Switching on the lights in the room he sits down at the desk.   
"He sat here when he thought it up."   
Folding his hands in front of his mouth, he slowly spins a full circle on the chair, looking around the office as he goes. Doctor Stapleton comes to the doorway.   
"Describe him to me."   
"You've seen him."   
"But describe him."  
"Er, he's a bloody martinet, a throw-back, the sort of man they'd have sent into Suez."   
"Good, excellent. Old-fashioned, traditionalist; not the sort that would use his children's names as a password." He gestures towards the children's drawings pinned on the board above the desk. "He loves his job; proud of it and this is work-related, so what's at eye level?"   
He rapidly scans around everything in the room without altering the angle of his eyes.  
"Books. Jane's Defence Weekly – bound copies. Hannibal; Wellington; Rommel; Churchill's "History of the English-Speaking Peoples" – all four volumes."   
He stands up and looks at a bronze bust on a shelf. "Churchill – well, he's fond of Churchill." He looks back to the bookcases again. "Copy of "The Downing Street Years"; one, two, three, four, five separate biographies of Thatcher."   
He looks down to a framed photograph on the desk of a man in uniform standing with his teenage son.  
"Mid 1980s at a guess. Father and son: Barrymore senior." Looking at the uniform of the older man. "Medals: Distinguished Service Order."   
He looks around to John who has come to the office door.  
"That date? I'd say Falklands veteran."   
"Right. So Thatcher's looking a more likely bet than Churchill."  
He walks out of the office and heads back towards the computer.   
"So that's the password?"   
"No. With a man like Major Barrymore, only first name terms would do."   
Leaning down to the keyboard, he starts to type Margaret Thatcher's first name into the "Auth code" box but stops when he reaches the penultimate letter. It's possible that the password is limited to seven letters, or he may have already realised that it's not the correct password. He narrows his eyes and deletes everything back to the first letter, then retypes it as "Maggie". Looking into the screen and gritting his teeth ever so slightly, he hits Enter. The computer beeps happily and announces "OVERRIDE 300/421 ACCEPTED. Loading ..."   
John comes over from the door to look at the screen. After a slight pause information begins to stream across the screen as everything related to Project H.O.U.N.D. becomes available. Sherlock's concentration becomes intense while he takes it all in, focusing on certain phrases like "extreme suggestibility," "fear and stimulus," "conditioned terror," "aerosol dispersal." A photograph comes up of the project team posing happily together and he identifies the five project leaders amongst the larger group: Elaine Dyson, Mary Uslowski, Rick Nader, Jack O'Mara and Leonard Hansen. Clearing the photo from the screen he rearranges the names into another order:   
Leonard Hansen   
   Jack O'Mara   
Mary Uslowski   
     Rick Nader   
    Elaine Dyson

Standing beside him, Doctor Stapleton finally begins to understand. Kristine walks over to the computer, arm wrapped around her waist, her hand pressed against her lips.  
"HOUND." Doctor Stapleton says.   
She stares at the screen in growing horror as more information from the project appears and words and phrases are highlighted such as "Paranoia," "Severe frontal lobe damage," "Blood-brain," "Gross cranial trauma," "Dangerous acceleration," "Multiple homicide," accompanied by photographs of some of the subjects of the project screaming insanely. "Jesus." John says softly.   
Sherlock is still scanning the information as it flows across the screen. "Project HOUND: a new deliriant drug which rendered its users incredibly suggestible. They wanted to use it as an anti-personnel weapon to totally disorientate the enemy using fear and stimulus; but they shut it down and hid it away in 1986."   
"Because of what it did to the subjects they tested it on."   
"And what they did to others. Prolonged exposure drove them insane – made them almost uncontrollably aggressive."   
"So someone's been doing it again – carrying on the experiments?"   
"Attempting to refine it, perhaps, for the last twenty years."  
"Who?"   
John nods at the screen, indicating the names of the project leaders.   
"Those names mean anything to you?"  
"No, not a thing."   
"Five principal scientists, twenty years ago."   
He pulls up the photograph of the team and begins zooming in on individuals within it. The closer footage shows that they are all wearing identical sweatshirts. Looming out of a diamond pattern in the centre of the sweatshirts is a large snarling wolf's head and the legend "H.O.U.N.D." is printed underneath. There is some smaller text underneath but it's not yet clear what it says. Sherlock continues to zoom in and out of the photo to look more closely at the faces.   
"Maybe our friend's somewhere in the back of the picture – someone who was old enough to be there at the time of the experiments in 1986..."   
He stops when he sees a face he recognises, and rolls his eyes a little as he realises the truth.  
"Maybe somebody who says "cell phone" because of time spent in America. You remember, John?"   
"Mm-hm."   
"He gave us his number in case we needed him."   
Doctor Stapleton stares at the photograph. "Oh my God. Bob Frankland. But Bob doesn't even work on...I mean, he's a virologist. This was chemical warfare."   
"It's where he started, though...and he's never lost the certainty, the obsession that that drug really could work. Nice of him to give us his number." He reaches into his pocket and takes out Frankland's card. "Let's arrange a little meeting."   
He walks away from the computer. John walks closer to it and looks at the last image – a very tight close-up of one of the sweatshirts. Stitched below the "H.O.U.N.D." legend is the name of the American town and state where the project was based: "Liberty, In".   
Just then John's phone begins to ring. He digs it out of his pocket and frowns at the number on the screen, apparently not recognising it. He answers.  
"Hello?"  
Initially the only sound he can hear is a woman crying.  
Who's this?..." John looks round to Sherlock. "It's Louise Mortimer. Louise, what's wrong?...What?...Where-where are you?...Right: stay there. We'll get someone to you, okay?"   
Lowering his phone, he begins to text.   
"Henry?"   
"He's attacked her."  
"Gone?"   
"Mm."   
Sherlock hit a speed dial on his own phone. There's only one place he'll go to: back to where it all started." He speaks into the phone. "Lestrade. Get to the Hollow...Dewer's Hollow, now. And bring a gun." 

With the pistol still in his hand, Henry is walking briskly across the moors towards the woods surrounding Dewer's Hollow. Some distance behind him, Sherlock, Kristine and John race across the terrain in the Land Rover. Unaware of this, Henry continues onwards, stopping momentarily to stare tearfully at the woods ahead of him, but then he continues onwards. Not long afterwards Sherlock pulls up presumably where the woods begin and the three get out and continue on foot. Henry reaches the lip of the Hollow and begins to make his way down into the misty valley. Reaching the bottom he slows down and stumbles slowly forward, wandering around vaguely for a moment before coming to a halt. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Dad." He whispers.   
Squatting down, he brings up the pistol and opens his mouth as he aims the muzzle towards it.   
"No, Henry, no! No!" Sherlock yells, hand outstretched.   
The three of them scramble down the slope, shining their torches towards him. Henry stands up and stumbles backwards, waving the pistol vaguely in their direction. His voice is high-pitched and hysterical.   
"Get back. Get – get away from me!"   
"Easy, Henry. Easy. Just relax."   
"I know what I am. I know what I tried to do!"   
"Just put the gun down. It's okay."   
"No, no, I know what I am!" He yells, voice hoarse with anguish.   
"Yes, I'm sure you do, Henry. It's all been explained to you, hasn't it – explained very carefully." Sherlock says reassuringly, his hand is now behind him, protectively hovering around Kristine.   
"What?"   
"Someone needed to keep you quiet; needed to keep you as a child to reassert the dream that you'd both clung on to, because you had started to remember."   
He begins to step closer to the young man.   
"Remember now, Henry. You've got to remember what happened here when you were a little boy."   
Henry's gun hand begins to droop momentarily but then he raises it again, his face full of his struggle to understand.   
"I thought it had got my dad – the hound. I thought..."  
He loses control and begins to scream in anguish.  
"Oh Je...oh Jesus, I don't – I don't know any more!" Sobbing, he bends forward and aims the muzzle into his mouth again.   
John lurches forward. "No, Henry! Henry, for God's sake!"   
"Henry, remember. "Liberty In." Two words; two words a frightened little boy saw here twenty years ago."   
Henry begins to calm a little but still remains hunched over with the gun's muzzle against his mouth.  
"You'd started to piece things together, remember what really happened here that night. It wasn't an animal, was it, Henry?"   
Henry starts to straighten up, blinking.   
"Not a monster."   
Henry turns to look at him.   
"A man."   
Henry's eyes widen as the memories begin to come. He gapes at Sherlock as the truth reasserts itself in his mind.   
"You couldn't cope. You were just a child, so you rationalised it into something very different. But then you started to remember, so you had to be stopped; driven out of your mind so that no-one would believe a word that you said."   
Quietly John steps forward, holding out his hand encouragingly towards Henry as Lestrade arrives and calls out while he trots down the slope towards them.   
"Sherlock!"   
"Okay, it's okay, mate." John carefully takes the pistol from Henry's fingers. Henry speaks tearfully to Sherlock.   
"But we saw it: the hound, last night. We s...we, we, we did, we saw..."   
"Yes, but there was a dog, Henry, leaving footprints, scaring witnesses, but it was nothing more than an ordinary dog. We both saw it – saw it as our drugged minds wanted us to see it. Fear and stimulus; that's how it works."   
Henry stares at him in confusion. Sherlock returns his look sympathetically.   
"But there never was any monster."   
The hound has different ideas, however, and now its anguished howl rings out in the woods above them. Everyone's head snaps up and John and Lestrade aim their flashlights upwards to the top of the Hollow where a low shape can be seen slowly stalking along the rim and snarling.   
"Sherlock..."   
Sherlock stares up in disbelief as Henry turns to him, horrified.   
"No." Henry begins to wail in panic. "No, no, no, no!"   
He backs away as Sherlock's arm flies behind him again towards Kristine but doesn't feel her there, while keeping his own torch shining up towards the creature above them he turns, Kristine has backed up, terror etched into her features.   
"Kristine...Kristine."   
She turns to look at him, he offers his hand, she takes it and he holds her behind him. "Sherlock..."   
The creature continues to slink along the rim of the Hollow as Henry begins to scream in abject terror. He crumples to his knees, continually screaming, "No!"   
"Henry!"   
The hound turns towards the Hollow and looks down at everyone, snarling viciously. Its eyes glow in the torchlight as Henry continues to wail.   
John turns and shines his torch into Lestrade's face. "Greg, are you seeing this?"   
Lestrade glances at him momentarily and his expression answers the question. Sherlock takes a quick look around to the inspector to see his face before turning back to stare up at the hound.   
"Right: he is not drugged, Sherlock, so what's that? What is it?!"   
As Henry continues to wail behind them, Sherlock screws his eyes shut for a brief moment, trying to handle the overload in his mind. He stares upwards again.   
"Alright! It's still here...he pants heavily for a moment before pulling himself together "...but it's just a dog. Henry! It's nothing more than an ordinary dog!"   
The hound doesn't think so and it raises its head and lets out a long terrifying howl.   
Lestrade stumbles backwards. "Oh my God."   
And now the hound turns and leaps a short way down the slope, its eyes flashing red in the torchlight.   
"Oh, Christ!"   
John stares at it as it stops again, its red glowing eyes now clearly visible as it opens its mouth and reveals a mouthful of long pointed teeth that you would never see on any dog. Its snarl is completely terrifying. Henry has fallen silent, gazing up at it as if he knows that it is going to kill him shortly. Sherlock is still trying to believe what his own eyes are telling him...and now there's movement behind them. Sherlock looks over his shoulder and sees a tall human figure through the mist. The new arrival is wearing a breathing mask with a clear visor over his face. Sherlock turns and rushes towards him, grabbing at the mask and ripping it upwards to fully reveal the man's face...and Jim Moriarty grins manically back at him.   
Sherlock stares at him in appalled horror. "No!"   
Behind him the hound growls ominously again. Jim's expression becomes intense and murderous but then his head begins to distort and flail about, morphing between Jim's face and someone else's so quickly that it's impossible to keep up with the changes. Sherlock grimaces, groaning at the insanity going on in front of him while Jim's face keeps reasserting itself.   
"It's not you! You're not here!"   
Grabbing at the figure, he spins him around and then headbutts him in the face. The figure crumples slightly and raises his hand to his face as he straightens up...and now the man in front of Sherlock is Bob Frankland. Sherlock clings onto his jacket, his breathing panicked and frantic...but then he turns his head to one side and looks at the mist surrounding them. Frankland still has his hand clamped over his mouth and nose, and suddenly it all begins to make sense to Sherlock.   
"The fog."   
John is still aiming his torch up at the hound. "What?"   
"It's the fog! The drug: it's in the fog! Aerosol dispersal – that's what it said in those records. Project HOUND – it's the fog! A chemical minefield!"   
Lestrade instantly throws his arm across his face, trying to stop himself from breathing too much of the mist. The hound stalks closer to the group, snarling.   
"For God's sake, kill it! Kill it!"   
The hound's movements become more jittery as if it's winding itself up to attack. Lestrade aims his pistol and fires three times at it. His bullets fly past it and it flinches momentarily but then rises up and leaps towards them. John has a finer aim and his bullets strike the hound accurately and throw it backwards. It squeals in pain and crashes to the ground, unmoving. John and Lestrade watch it anxiously for any signs of movement, and Sherlock runs over to Henry and pushes him towards the hound.   
"Look at it, Henry."   
"No, no, no!" He digs his heels in.   
Sherlock shoves him forward determinedly.  
"Come on, look at it!"   
He bullies the young man forward until they can both clearly see it lying on the ground. In Sherlock's torchlight it is evidently nothing more than a huge dog. Henry stares at it for a moment and then turns back to where Frankland is still holding his injured face while Greg has his hands over his mouth as he tries to draw breath and come to terms with what he just experienced. Henry looks at Frankland.   
"It's just ... You bastard."   
Hurling himself at the older man, he screams with rage.  
"You bastard!"   
Bundling him to the ground, he screams into his face while John and Lestrade run over and try to pull him off.  
"Twenty years! Twenty years of my life making no sense! Why didn't you just kill me?!"   
Finally the others manage to pull him up. In the madness Kristine budges from her spot, still not fully able to cope with the events of the night, she quickly realises how much standing around she's done and not enough helping, but she's been terrified out of her mind, what was she supposed to do? Taking a few more steps she reached Sherlock, gripping his arm. Sherlock switches hands with his torch and grabs her's, squeezing tightly.   
"Because dead men get listened to. He needed to do more than kill you. He had to discredit every word you ever said about your father, and he had the means right at his feet – a chemical minefield; pressure pads in the ground dosing you up every time that you came back here."   
He holds his arm out wide and spins slowly in a circle, gesturing around the Hollow.   
"Murder weapon and scene of the crime all at once."   
He laughs with delight.   
"Oh, this case, Henry! Thank you. It's been brilliant."   
"Sherlock..."   
He looks at John. "What?"   
John glares at him pointedly. "Timing."   
"Not good?"   
"No, no, it's – it's okay. It's fine, because this means..."   
He starts to step towards Frankland. John moves with him, ready to intervene if he should try to attack him again.   
"...this means that my dad was right."


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

Frankland gets up onto his knees as Henry still tries to move towards him. John and Lestrade both put a gentle hand onto his shoulders to keep him back.   
"He found something out, didn't he, and that's why you'd killed him – because he was right, and he'd found you right in the middle of an experiment."   
Frankland gets to his feet but before he can say anything there's a savage snarl from behind the group. Everybody spins towards the dog. The dog whines in pain but gets up off the ground. John aims and fires towards it twice and it goes down again. Frankland takes the opportunity of the distraction to turn and run off in the opposite direction. Like the single-minded idiot that he is, Sherlock runs right across John's line of fire, forcing him to lower his pistol, and chases off after the scientist. John turns and follows him up the slope.   
"Frankland!"   
Frankland runs through the woods with Sherlock and John in hot pursuit, Lestrade, Kristine and Henry a little behind the other two.   
"Frankland!"   
"Come on, keep up!" Lestrade tells Henry.   
They run on.  
"It's no use, Frankland!"  
Reaching the barbed wire fence surrounding the minefield, Frankland doesn't hesitate and jumps over. His feet tangle in the wire and he falls to the ground on the other side. He jumps up and runs on a few yards but then stops abruptly when his foot thumps down onto a mine, which makes a distinctive clink indicating that he has activated its pressure pad. He stares down at his foot, shining his torch onto the mine underneath and realising that unless he remains completely still and doesn't lift any pressure off it, the mine will blow. As the others hurry towards the barbed wire, he raises his head, sighs in resignation and deliberately lifts his foot. The others skid to a halt and duck down as a massive explosion rips into the air. As the blast dies down, Henry sinks back against a nearby tree while Sherlock gazes reflectively across the minefield. 

 

Back at the inn, Sherlock closes the door after John, leaving him and Kristine in the hallway. "Are you okay?" He asks, reaching up to touch her cheek. She nods, closing her eyes.   
"Yes, I'm fine. Really." She opens them to look at Sherlock with the same blue-green eyes he fell in love with. "I guess I'm still a little shaken. I mean a lot has happened in the span of a few days, especially with the lab and..."   
"That wasn't real." Sherlock said, "it was an experiment."   
"What?"  
"I locked you both in the lab and simulated the sounds of the hound." He watched her expression grow angry, "but it was only to see if the sugar was drugged."   
Kristine turned away from him for a moment.   
"You're angry with me. Kristine I-" her hand made contact with his face, the sound of the slap was so loud that John heard it from behind the door. He opened it to see Kristine standing there, her face furious, Sherlock was hunched over, cradling his cheek and looking at her in complete and utter shock.   
"Close the door, John." Kristine told him.   
"What's going on?"  
"Close the door!" She yelled.  
He did what she was told without being told again.   
"Kristine, min kjærlighet, ro deg ned." Sherlock held his hand out in defence, standing up right, looking down at the fuming woman. "I have literally never been angrier with you in my life than I am right now."  
"Kristine..."  
"Walk away Sherlock. Walk away!"   
Nodding submissively he turned around, but turned back, "Jeg er så lei meg."   
"Just, go. Please." She opened the door and shut it behind her.   
"What happened?" John asked, looking up from his laptop, flopping down on the bed she grabbed her dance magazine off the nightstand.  
"Nothing."   
"Where's Sherlock?"  
"Out."   
"Oh, okay...do you know when he'll be back?"  
"Nope."

________________________________

In the morning outside of the inn, John is sitting at one of the outdoor tables. Billy brings out a plate containing whatever is the vegetarian equivalent of a full English breakfast and puts it on the table in front of him.   
"Mmm. Thanks, Billy."   
As Billy walks away, Sherlock brings over two mugs and a very tired Kristine and puts one down on the table, she barely slept, mostly because she was next to John all night and he snores, loudly.   
"So they didn't have it put down, then – the dog."   
John into his breakfast while Sherlock stands next to him and drinks his coffee. "Obviously. Suppose they just couldn't bring themselves to do it."   
"I see."   
"No you don't."   
"No, I don't. Sentiment?"   
"Sentiment!"   
Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Oh." He sits down on the bench next to John.   
"Well you'd find I'm beginning to become very good at sentiment."   
"Only when it comes to her." John said, pointing at Kristine, she's sitting across from him, not paying attention to the conversation, she's glued to her phone screen, the stupid sounds from Angry Birds could be heard, she left her headphones in the jeep and didn't feel like grabbing them.   
"Anyway listen: what happened to us in the lab?"   
Sherlock looks at him for a moment, then turns around and reaches for a box of sauce packets, looking worried about how he's ever going to explain all this.   
"D'you want some sauce with that?"   
"I mean, I hadn't been to the Hollow, so how come we heard those things in there? Fear and stimulus, you said."   
Sherlock rummaged through the box of sachets. "You must have been dosed with it elsewhere, when you went to the lab, maybe. You saw those pipes – pretty ancient, leaky as a sieve; and they were carrying the gas, so...um, ketchup, was it, or brown...?"   
"Hang on: you thought it was in the sugar."   
Sherlock stares at him while trying to maintain a neutral expression.   
"You were convinced it was in the sugar."   
Sherlock looks away again.   
"Better get going, actually." He looks at his watch. "There's a train that leaves in half an hour, so if you want..."   
John turns his head away as he begins to realise the horrible truth.  
"Oh God. It was you. You locked us in that bloody lab."   
"I had to. It was an experiment."   
"An experiment?!" John yells furiously.   
Sherlock looks at people sitting nearby. "Shhh." "I was terrified, Sherlock. I was scared to death. And lets not forget to mention Kristine. She was scared nearly catatonic thanks you you. God, no wonder she was angry last night!"   
"I thought that the drug was in the sugar, so I put the sugar in your coffee, then I arranged everything with Major Barrymore."   
John sighs in exasperation.   
"It was all totally scientific, laboratory conditions – well, literally. Well, I knew what effect it had had on a superior mind, so I needed to try it on an average one."  
John looks up from his plate.   
"You know what I mean."   
John gets back to eating.   
"But it wasn't in the sugar."   
"No, well, I wasn't to know you'd already been exposed to the gas."   
"So you got it wrong."   
"No."   
"Mm. You were wrong. It wasn't in the sugar. You got it wrong."   
He was hesitant. "A bit. It won't happen again." He assured.   
Sighing, John continues eating, then looks round.  
"Any long-term effects?"   
"None at all. You'll be fine once you've excreted it. We all will."  
"Think I might have taken care of that already."   
Sherlock snorts laughter, then looks across to a nearby table where Gary is pouring coffee for two other customers. He smiles apologetically across to Sherlock, who puts his mug on the table and stands up.  
"Where're you going?"   
"Won't be a minute. Gotta see a man about a dog."   
Smiling down at John, he turns and walks away.   
John looks at Kristine from across the table, her coffee hasn't been touched at all, she's curled up on the bench, looking off into the distance. "Are you okay?" She doesn't answer him, John puts his utensils down and walks over, kneeling in front of her.   
"Kristine."   
She turns to look at him, away from her game, "huh?"   
"Are you okay?"  
"Oh, yeah, yeah. 'm fine. Totally...fine."   
"Do you want something to eat? I could get you.."  
"No, I'm okay. I don't need anything."   
Sherlock comes around again, "we should probably be going now, you know."   
John nods, "right, right." He stands up straight.   
They stare at Kristine who hasn't moved at all.   
"Kristine," Sherlock says, trying to grab her attention. "Kristine, we have to go." She's ignoring him on purpose and he knows this. Reaching forward he snatches the phone out of her hand, she yells out in surprise, trying to grab it back.   
"Give it, Sherlock!" She demands.   
"We need to leave, now." He turns back to John, who's standing around idly, "go wait in the jeep."  
Deciding best not to question it he left the two of them but watched from the mirror on his door.   
Kristine still held her hand out expectantly for her phone but he just pocketed it. Sighing she looked around at the patrons, who are having their breakfast before turning back to Sherlock with her lips pressed together. "Can I have my phone back please?"   
"Not until we talk."   
She snickered, licking her lips she debated on it, before shaking her head, "I have nothing to say to you." She said, pointing a finger accusingly at him. She turned to walk towards the jeep when he grabbed her arm.   
"Let me go, Sherlock."   
He pulled her body close to his, looking down at her. "How many times?"  
"Huh?"  
"How many times must I apologize before you forgive me?"   
"Forgive you? Sherlock I was scared out of my mind, I thought I was going to die!"   
"I...I'm sorry, I am." He said, nodding a little, squeezing her upper arm gently. "I hate to think that you hate me now, I never intended on...it was just an experiment, Kristine, min kjærlighet."   
Sighing deeply, her eyes fluttered shut, "I don't hate you. I'm just angry, you have to understand how scary that was for me. I..." she didn't know what to say next, her voice trailed of as she looked up at him, seeing a hit of what would be considered remorse in his eyes. "I won't forgive you yet...just...give me time." She said, holding her hand out for her phone, nodding he gave it back to her. She squirmed from his grip and walked towards the jeep, getting in the backseat.  
The drive was quiet, Sherlock spent half the time looking in the rearview mirror at Kristine. He didn't mean to scare her that badly, he didn't want her to get mad at him. How to fix it? He wondered. Shower her with compliments? No. Take her out to dinner? Perhaps. Completely confess his love for her? Out of the question. Or was it truly out of the question? That small little fear of rejection creeped onto his shoulder. What if she rejected him? What if she laughed? Well she wouldn't laugh but his head still played that scenario anyway. Or would she say it back? Would she kiss him? What would happen then? She's with someone else, anyway. He thought dinner was perhaps his best bet. But where? Certainly not Angelo's again, even if they do eat for free. No, he should probably put some effort into it, maybe wear a tie. He shuddered at the thought of a tie, he hates ties. Although if it was for Kristine he could manage. Yes, most definitely he could. 

________________________________

With a quick hello to Mrs. Turner she unlocked the door to her flat and stepped inside, an Alexander McQueen box sat on her coffee table, she put her bag down and approached it cautiously. A folded piece of paper sat beside it, she unfolded it and revealed Sherlock's all to familiar handwriting. 

Kristine,   
Wear this and meet me downstairs at 7pm.   
Sherlock. 

Looking at her watch it was only four in the afternoon. She stood up and took the box with her to the bedroom, she set it on the bed and opened the lid, moving the paper aside she picked up the dress inside.  
"Holy mother of God...Sherlock what the hell?" She stared in awe at the garment in her hands, it was a black, satin back crepe bustier knot evening dress, with a corseted waistline with sarabande lace and light-weight structural boning. It had a draped heart-shaped neckline meeting at the waist in a twist knot before draping into the long skirt. The dress has a invisible zipper fastening on the center back.   
Kristine immediately took out her phone and sent Sherlock a text.

(How much did this cost you, Sherlock? -KS) 

She set the dress down, and immediately got a reply. 

(That's not important. 7pm, Kristine. -SH) 

She typed away at keyboard.

(Can you at least tell me where we're going? -KS)

...  
(No. -SH)

(Why not? -KS)

...  
(Its a surprise. Humour me, min kjærlighet. -SH) 

Her heart jolted, he called her "my love." She thought she heard him say it a few times but it was never this clear. Biting her lip she repressed a fit of nervous giggles and set her phone down, stepping into the shower. 

________________________________

It was nearing 7pm, Kristine had forgotten that Sherlock knew her measurements, for the dress fit like a glove. She paired it with a pair of strappy black heels, she forgone her usual platform, feeling like she didn't need it and added simple diamond jewelry. Putting everything important she had into a crystal clutch she grabbed her black peacoat and covered her shoulders. She turned towards her mirror, she had curled her hair and put it up in an messy updo. She didn't know where she was going, but knowing Sherlock there was a possibility it would be grander and out of her price range. He had a flair for the dramatic. Or it could be fish and chips from that one stand he always goes too. But he wouldn't have bought her this dress if it was just that. Fixing her mauve lipstick she opened her clutch and checked the time, it was 7 on the dot. Taking a deep breath she locked the door behind her and met Sherlock downstairs.


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

She opened the front door and stepped outside, Sherlock was standing there with John, to Kristine's surprise, Sherlock was wearing a tie. She walked closer to them, holding her dress up so it didn't touch the ground. Sherlock stared at her. When he picked out the dress he didn't expect to to be so...  
The man blinked, she looked beautiful, absolutely and truly stunning. Her makeup wasn't heavy, she looked effortless. He adored the little wisps of blonde hair that framed her face and the mauve lipstick on her lips, not a harsh bold red, but soft and...he was having trouble thinking clearly. His eyes flickered to John, who was looking quite like a proud parent honestly. When she reached them she smiled at John and looked at Sherlock.  
"He's not coming is he?"  
"No," Sherlock assured, "he just wants a picture."  
"Of us?"  
"Clearly."  
Kristine blinked, "oh wow, okay. How do you want us..." Sherlock cut her off, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. She put a hand on his chest, rubbing her thumb against the silk of his tie.  
"If your wearing a tie...we must be going somewhere important. Fancy even."  
She looked at John who took out his phone and she smiled when he snapped a picture.  
"Are you finished?"  
John looked at the photo he took and smiled, "yeah I'm done, have fun you two."  
Sherlock hailed down a cab and opened the door for her when John came back outside, Kristine waited in the cab, John slipped something into Sherlock's hand and whispered in his ear, whatever it was made his cheeks go red and he cleared his throat. John went back in the flat and Sherlock got into the cab. He reached forward and gave the cabbie a piece of paper. Nodding, he drove off.  
"So..." she started, "are you going to tell me where we're going?"  
"No."  
Scoffing playfully she looked out the window, "meany."  
A small smile crossed his lips.  
"Are you at least going to tell me what John wanted?"  
"Nothing important."  
"Nothing important, huh? Then why were you so flushed about it?"  
"I was not."  
"You were." 

The cabbie parked outside of the Ritz, when they stepped our, her eyes widened like saucers.  
"Sherlock!" She hissed, grabbing onto his arm.  
"We can't afford this place!"  
"Relax Kristine, its fine."  
They stepped inside the building and he directed them to the restaurant inside. He gave the host a false smile.  
"Reservation for two under Holmes."  
The man led them through the beautifully decorated room, over to a table for two where a waiter was standing with a bottle of champagne.  
"Would you like a glass?" Sherlock asked her when she shrugged the coat off her shoulders, "uh," smiling a little she looked up at the man, "please."  
He filled her flute and Sherlocks, placing the bottle in an ice bucket.  
"Sherlock, what are we doing here? No seriously, what?"  
"I thought you'd enjoy it."  
"I am...I do...its just..." she hesitated, "friends don't take friends out here...I mean not intimately like this...I..." she turned to look at him, "what's on your mind?" She asked.  
Sherlock dodged the question, opening his menu. Sighing deeply she did the same. Her ryes widened at the prices, "Sherlock.."  
"Stop worrying about the prices, min kjærlighet. I'm treating you."  
"Why?"  
"Well because...because well...I wanted too...apologize for last week. I shouldn't have done that to you."  
Kristine smiles at him, "so you take me to the Ritz to apologize?" Chuckling she pushed her hair off her forehead, "somehow I'm not surprised."  
Sherlock smiled at her and turned back to his menu.  
"So...order whatever you'd like, and don't think about it."

________________________________

The cab parked outside Speedy's, it was late in the night, just after 10pm. Sherlock stepped out first, he really didn't have to walk to the opposite side of the cab and open the door for her, but he did. She smiled at him and took his hand, stepping out onto the road. Sherlock paid the cabbie and he drove off, leaving them on the sidewalk outside.  
"Well, um, thank you, Sherlock. I had a wonderful night."  
"You're welcome, Kristine."  
Gathering the nerve she stretched up and placed a kiss on his cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow." She slipped inside her own flat.  
Tomorrow wasn't in the cards, he had other plans. 

 

From inside the shower she heard her phone go off with a ping. It only went off once, meaning she had a text. Rinsing the rest of the conditioner out of her hair she stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around her body. Picking the phone up off the bed she checked the message. 

(Come over, 30 minutes. Pyjamas are fine. -SH) 

Kristine chuckled, what was he doing now? First the dress, then dinner and now nightly visits in pyjamas? Plopping her phone back down on the mattress she walked hack into the bathroom with her hairdryer.  
She was shimmying into her pyjama pants when her phone went off and she checked the message. 

(Sherlock's destroyed the living room :( -JW) 

Chuckling she knew that could only mean one thing, and she was enthralled, they haven't done this since they were teenagers. Hopping around like an excited little bunny she tossed on her shirt, completely forgetting to put on a bra. Grabbing a fluffy pillow and blanket she shoved her feet into slippers and took the short trip from her flat to his, waving to Mr. Chatterjee in the window as he changed the sign from OPEN to CLOSED. 

The front door was open, she was met with a ginormous pillow fort and Sherlock sitting in the middle of the floor. Kristine smiled widely.  
"What's all this?"  
He stood up, "well I figured that our evening didn't have to be over yet, so I thought, why not destroy the living room and have a little fun?"  
Raising her eyebrows in a suggestive manner she looked up at him, "and what, pray tell, is a little fun?"  
"Hot chocolate and Hairspray."  
"But you hate Hairspray, you hate all kinds of musicals."  
"I do, however, you enjoy them."  
Her lips spread into a soft smile, she looked at his dress shirt and fumbled with the buttons, "well if we're going to do this properly, you need to change."  
"Must I?"  
"Yes, you must."  
He rolled his wyes and walked into the bedroom. He came back out in his pyjamas with his blue dressing gown thrown overtop, he walked over and opened the fort, "after you."  
"Oh, well thank you very much," she replied with playful enthusiasm. The fort was comfy, lots of cushions and pillows, Sherlock had even strung up the Christmas lights so they could see. He had hairspray in the DVD player already and was waiting to press play. A small ooo-ooo caught his attention, Mrs. Hudson was bent over the opening with a tray in her hands, two cups of cocoa.  
Sherlock took them from her and passed one to Kristine, "thank you, Mrs. Hudson."  
Sherlock shut the fort and pressed play. 

The moment Good Morning Baltimore began playing, he immediately regretted his decision, but he heard Kristine singing the song softly under her breath and smiled a little. He could endure this, surely if it meant she was happy.  
Near the end of the opening number she heard him chucking and stopped, "what?"  
"Nothing," he insisted, "you're just adorable that's all."  
A blush crept up onto her cheeks, she tucked blonde hair behind her ears and looked at him. Sherlock set both their mugs down on a solid surface and grabbed her arm, pulling her smaller form towards his body, letting her curl up next to him.  
It wasn't really until the Nicest Kids in Town number that he spoke.  
"Did he just say "nice white kids"?"  
"Yes he did."  
She turned back to the movie. 

It wasn't until You Can't Stop the beat that Kristine knew Sherlock was enjoying himself, she turned and noticed him mouthing the words a little, so to give him a little push she started singing along. 

John came downstairs for a drink when he heard it, the sound of Hairspray playing, Kristine was singing along which was expected but so was...Sherlock? He nearly choked on his water. Sherlock was singing, along to a musical of all things. Oh, he wished he had his phone. Mentally slapping himself for it he just smiled and giggled all the way back upstairs.  
When the movie was over Sherlock turned to Kristine, "you want to watch it again?"  
"Yes." She said almost instantly, making Sherlock chuckle a little.

Halfway through the second showing, Sherlock began playing with her hair, she shifted from her spot and he could feel her breath fanning over his pec, her finger nail digging into his skin softly, making him groan. She heard it and looked up, "are you okay, Sherlock?"  
He didn't answer her, his lips were on hers, capturing them in a searing kiss. He moved his hand to rest on her stomach, experimentally running his fingers over the firm muscles. She let loose a moan, her mouth fell open, he took that as permission to slip his tongue inside, something he's never done before. Kristine's heart skipped a beat. When they broke apart she could only stare at him, his cerulean eyes blown wide with lust, his chest rapidly rising and falling, his cheeks flushed. His hand had crept beneath her shirt, his fingers drawing circles on her skin sending electric tingles shooting through her nerve endings.  
"What are you doing?" She whispered.  
"What I've been wanting to do for a long time," Sherlock replied. "Do you want me to stop?"  
"N-no," she stammered. "I don't want you to stop, but if we go this road, we can't be friends again, you understand that."  
Sherlock looked down at her softly, "I know, I don't, I want to be more than that, I've always wanted to be more."  
"Why did you wait until now?"  
"Because...I was being cowardly, when you left I closed myself off, but when you came back I was afraid."  
"Afraid? What did you have to be afraid of?"  
"You," he answered, "I was afraid that if I listened to my...feelings, you would leave me again."  
"Oh, Sherlock." She whispered, reaching up to cup his face.  
"Please, don't leave me again, I don't think I could bare it."  
"I won't, Sherlock." She reached up to brush a few curls away from his face, "I'm here, I'm staying, and if I go anywhere you'll be right by my side, I promise."  
Sherlock adverted her gaze for a moment, unsure of what to say or due next, he met her eyes, soft and sparkling, waiting for him to confess something, he wasn't entirely sure if he was ready, he wanted it to be perfect, but when the timing calls, one must answer.  
"I love you." He blurted.  
Kristine blinked rapidly, "I...what?"  
Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he opened them again and looked at her, "I said, I love you."  
"Love me as in..." it sank in quickly, "oh...you...your serious..." she couldn't believe what she was hearing, after years of beating around their feelings for each other, he was finally admitting it to her, looking in her eyes.  
Kristine was shocked and she felt overwhelmed, across from her was a man she's loved for so long, who she's dreamed about, thought about, longed for, she was beginning to feel overwhelmed but she just melted against his body.  
"I'm in love with you, and I know that love is foolish and goes unrequited most of the time. And I know that I said that I don't love, but I am so in love with you, and it has nothing to do with you being the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, but your heart and the kindness you've shown me. I love you because you're intelligent and clever, I love you because you let me be myself, I know that I'm arrogant and insufferable..."  
"You really are," she said with a watery chuckle  
"Don't interrupt me, please. I know I said I was married to my work but I wouldn't mind...one day...being married to you either."  
"Sherlock..."  
"Oh no, I'm not proposing, its way to soon for that, but I wish...I would...I would like to spend the rest of my life with you."  
A tear slipped down her cheek and she smiled. "You're so dramatic," she murmured. "I...love you too. I...always have."  
"Always? Even when I'm being an arse?"  
She closed her eyes and chuckled.  
"Yes, even at your worst, I did, I do. Even when I was with William and Charles...Charlie? I can't remember."  
Sherlock chuckled.  
"I never stopped thinking about you. I came back because...I needed you. I needed you in my life again. Of course I love my country and its my home but I also have a home here, with you. Its always been you." She chuckled a little, "I guess my mamma was right about soulmates."  
"Oh don't be ridiculous, the whole soulmate notion is false."  
"Sherlock." She warned playfully.  
He smiled at her and took her hand in his, still small and delicate, and then he was kissing her again, kissing her until she couldn't breathe properly. He grabbed the edge of the blanket she wrapped around her legs about an hour ago and slipped beneath it, his body flush against hers, movie forgotten completely as they were totally engrossed in each other. When her head fell against the front of the couch, Sherlock took advantage, his lips roaming endlessly over her neck. His hand slid down Kristine's waist and between her legs, his palm pressed to her aching core, gently rubbing, warmth building between her legs. They fell open, a salacious moan leaving her lips, and the fleeting thought that they were in the living room where John could walk in at any time and open the sheet popped into her head, but it disappeared as soon as Sherlock's hand slipped under her pyjama pants and into her underwear. He slowly traced the soft folds of skin, his finger slipping into the wet heat with a quiet sigh, just the tip of it pumping in and out.  
Sherlock groaned against the side of her neck, another finger pushing inside of her, his thumb pressed to her clit, his arm sliding around her back and pulling the blonde against him, his hard cock pressing into her lower back.  
She squirmed, drawing a low gasp from Sherlock as she pushed her ass against him. He sucked at her neck, biting, licking, and kissing the bare skin where her shoulder met her neck, his fingers moving inside of her at a leisurely pace, teasing her, driving her nearly insane with need and want. She let his fingers explore her, touching and caressing every inch of her sex until she was panting and writhing against him, nearly drowning in pleasure.  
She closed her eyes, lost in what Sherlock was doing to her with his hand, moving with him as he slowly fingered her, his breath hot on her neck, his cock rubbing against her ass. As his movements became more vigorous, she grabbed his wrist, her nails digging into him as he used his fingers to fuck her, Kristine's hips bucked under his attentions, grinding against his hand as he rolled his hips against her.

"Come on, Kristine," Sherlock whispered in her ear as he rutted against her, their bodies so close there wasn't an inch of space between them. "Come on, baby, I want you to cum for me, cum all over me." His fingers brushed across her g-spot and she groaned, pressing the blanket to her face to muffle the sound. He crooked his fingers, sliding them repeatedly over the sensitive nub of nerves, his palm pressing hard against her clit.  
Kristine felt the familiar tightening in the pit of her stomach, and then she was letting go, her vision blurred, white noise filling her head as she came, every inch of her body shattering apart as the orgasm consumed her senses. Sherlock growled, his body tensing against her, clutching the woman tight against him.

They were both panting, hot and sweaty, her body limp in Sherlock's arm. He kissed her, slow and easy, almost chaste compared to what he'd just done to her. He slipped out from the fort and pulled her along with him. She could barely stand, still overwhelmed by the feelings Sherlock had elicited.  
"Where are we going?" She asked.  
"To my bed, I'm not finished with you yet." He growled, lifting her up by the waist to carry her.


End file.
